What I Like About You
by Flagg1991
Summary: Lincoln helps Jordan plan an epic party to rival prom. Meanwhile, Jordan struggles to tell Lincoln just how much he means to her. [Commission]
1. Chapter 1

"Prom is gay."

It was a warm, sunny May afternoon and Jordan Fletcher was wearing sunglasses she filched from her friend Candy. Hers were lost, or misplaced, or dropped in the grass and forgotten during last week's pick-up game at the park. Who knew?

A tall, thin girl with honey wheat hair held up in a plain French braid, Jordan was always losing things. Her chemistry book. Her math book. She hadn't seen her science book since Mr. Meyers handed it to her on the first day of school. _Guard this with your life, _he said over the tops of his glasses. Sure thing, my man. By the time she got home later that afternoon, it was mysteriously gone. Uh...where did my book go? Man, when it came time to hand it in, he was going to be pissed.

Anyway, Jordan was sitting behind the wheel of her 2023 Mustang GT - AKA the best sixteenth birthday present upper middle class parents could buy - and waiting _very _impatiently for a traffic light to change. Candy, short and scrawny with braces and a face like cheese pizza, sat in the passenger seat, and Sharon, black and stylish with curly hair, sat in the back. Pop music filtered from the dashboard speakers and the stench of Burpin' Burger's grease trap wafted over the intersection. Seriously, when's the last time they cleaned that thing?

"Oh, come on," Sharon said and leaned between the seats, "you know you wanna go."

Jordan crinkled her nose. Prom, that magical night where awkward boys and girls crowd into a musky gym reeking of sweat and dodgeballs, was in less than a week. Sharon, the busiest body to ever busy, was on the prom committee and was _really _pushing prom. She was as bad as Mormon missionaries. She just would not _stop_.

The light changed and Jordan punched the gas, the car's sudden forward motion shoving Sharon back against her seat. Ha. That's what you _get_. "Nope. Told you. Prom's gay."

"No it's not," Sharon whined. "Really. What's so bad about prom?" A demanding note crept into her voice, and in the rearview mirror, her eyes challenged Jordan to come up with one good reason prom sucked.

Jordan could come up with more than one. "It's dumb," she said and held up her pointer finger. "It's lame." Two. "It's retarded." Three. "You have to wear a dress." Four.

Sharon rolled her eyes. "Three of those aren't valid."

Maybe not, but the fourth was. Jordan didn't do dresses. Period. They felt weird. Like, okay, there's a breeze...on my crotch, where there absolutely _shouldn't _be one. She was a jeans and T-shirt slut through and through. Jeans can take anything you throw at them, and Jordan threw a lot at her clothes. She was on the track and field team, the soccer team, the basketball team...she liked sports, in other words. Dresses don't do well in sports. They rip, expose your legs, and flutter all over the place when you run. True, she wore a skirt sometimes, and yeah, some of the dresses she saw in the shop windows lining the promenade at the mall _were _kind of cute, but...where was she?

Oh, right, excuses for not going to prom. Let's see...let's see...oh, dancing. Dancing was lametarded. Slow dances were...uh...blush...and fast dances made you look like an epilepic chicken no matter _how _smooth you thought you were. Everyone there was going to be in the sixteen-to-eighteen age range, and that demographic is notorious for their suck-ass dancing. She went to a spring formal thing-a-majig in freshman year, and the dance floor legit looked like pure high octane cringe distilled and stuffed into pimply, brace-faced bodies. The best dancer there was the janitor, and Jordan was _pretty _sure he had a little liquid assistance...if ya know what I mean.

Drunk.

He was drunk.

Standing against the wall and watching her classmates make fools of themselves, Jordan vowed _never_. Uh-uh. No way. Call her insecure, call her whatever you want, but the prospect of getting out there and busting a move like her name was Elaine filled her with holy, knee-knocking terror.

Even scarier was…

Ya know.

Remember how she kinda sorta glossed over the slow dance bit? That's because it triggered her. Like...a boy having his hands on her hips, and his body pressed to hers, gazing into her eyes...lips hovering needily above hers, getting closer and closer...shudder.

Make no mistake, it was a nice thought (_very, very _nice), but also, like...not. What if she stepped on his foot? What if her breath stank? A million things could go wrong...and a million things could go right.

She didn't know which eventuality scared her more.

At eighteen, Jordan had never…"been with" a boy...in any sense, unless you count playing kickball or video games with them. She'd never done..._that_...and she'd never kissed anyone. In fact, she'd never even held hands.

Jeez, I'm a loser.

Not really. Plenty of boys had asked her out and slipped her notes in class (really, buddy? Paper? What is this, 1999?). She caught them looking at her butt in the hall and the cafeteria all the time, and she was fairly certain that if she really wanted a date, she could get one like _that_.

The thing was: She didn't want one. Well...she _did_, but she was focused on sports and academics and stuff like that. Gotta get into a good college. How _else _was she going to come out after four years with crippling student loan debt?

She also only liked one boy and...it was complicated, okay? Let's just leave it at that.

As if on cue, Sharon lidded her eyes. "What if I get Lincoln to ask you?"

The suggestive hilt in her voice sent a pang of dread through Jordan's stomach. "Don't," she blurted. "I don't wanna go with _anyone_."

"Yes you do," Candy said knowingly.

Sigh. Okay. Yes, she did...and yes, Lincoln was the boy she liked. There, happy?

She and Lincoln had been friends since Jordan moved to Royal Woods from Deer Park at the end of fourth grade. At first, he was just another guy to hang with, no different from Clyde or Poppa Wheelie, but then his little girlfriend Ronnie Anne moved to Detroirt and started dating some lesbo with shoulders, and he was really broken up about it. Jordan felt bad for him and spent a whole week stuck up his ass trying to make him feel better. By the end of it, they were tight as a bark on a tree.

And she kind of liked him. Could you blame her, though? He was cute, funny, smart, and caring. He had, like, fifty little sisters and whenever she hung out with him, he'd break away periodically because Lola needed someone to brush her hair, Lisa wanted a test subject, Lana needed help finding an escaped frog or lizard. It was really sweet. Not many boys are like that, you know? They're usually self-centered little punks who only care about themselves. Not Lincoln, though. Lincoln was different.

As the years passed, she fell even deeper in like with him, but never said anything.

Don't look at me like that, I have my reasons.

For starters, he made her feel funny. No, really. She wasn't a timid, stammering little baby, she was bold and confident and all that other stuff, but when it came to him, she melted into a little puddle of goo. Oh, she kept it together and didn't gush and act all goo goo or anything, but the thought of asking him out...or kissing him...gave her a (metaphorical) nosebleed. Oni-chan, notice me, sempai. That's what anime characters say, right? She didn't know, she didn't watch that crap, but seriously, she'd blush, stutter, and go to pieces.

And for another thing, he never noticed her. They'd been friends for years, and he never asked her out, never tried to hold her hand, never nodded his head appreciatively as she passed by and complimented her ass. To Jordan, that meant that he _might _not like her.

Then again, maybe he was just stupid. Boys can be really freaking dense when it comes to matters of the heart. Lincoln was a little more sensitive than the average male, but he was still a guy, so his brain meat wasn't USDA prime, if you catch my drift.

Finally, reason numero threeo: She loved him as a friend, and, you know, what if they tried a relationship and things didn't work out? Things would be forever weird between them and that would be that. They'd drift apart and their special bond would be broken.

That worried her.

Of course, she couldn't fart around forever. She was going to tell him how she felt, just not now. Later. In the future. Tomorrow or the next day. Maybe even next month, I got a lotta stuff going on and I'd have to clear my schedule. Did I say three months from now? Yeah, make that six.

In other words: She was putting it off.

"Just admit it," Sharon said, "you want Lincoln to ask you to prom, It's okay. He's really cute."

Candy hummed her agreement, and Jordan's face flushed with pique. Don't say that about him, thot. I got dibs. "Really, I just think prom's dumb," she said, deflecting from the topic of Lincoln. "Nothing about it sounds fun. Dumb music, watered down punch, Dollar Store chips and dip - _I _could throw a better party."

That was a bold statement, considering she was as ignorant of party planning as she was boys. Maybe even more so. Things like "planning" and "strategizing" weren't her strong suits...a fact that literally everyone learned when she was voted captain of the basketball team in tenth grade, then screwed up so bad she became the first sports captain in the history of Royal Woods to be impeached.

They _still _called her Donald Trump over that.

It wasn't her fault, though. Juggling school, practice, a part-time job waiting tables, _and _skippering a whole team was more than she could handle. She had to formulate plays, meet with players and faculty, take part in special classes, and during games? Come up with strategy, delegate tasks, talk to refs, act as an intermediary between the coach and everyone else, know where everyone was, what everyone was doing, think two steps ahead, then think two steps ahead of _that_. The weight of the world bore down on her shoulders, and she bombed. She bombed _hard_.

Who knew being captain would be so much work?

As sucky at management as she was, she could throw a _way _better party than the prom committee.

"No you couldn't," Sharon said.

They were on Hillcrest Street. Parcel lawns headed by one story ranch houses bordered the sidewalk. Spreading trees budding green with spring blossoms cast interlaced shadows over the pavement and warm wind redolent of flowers and honeysuckle blew from the west, stirring Jordan's hair. "I could too," Jordan said.

"Couldn't," Sharon shot back.

Jordan looked to Candy for help, but Candy turned her head. She wanted no part of the conflict brewing between her friends. She was like Switzerland. They _never _go to war. Not even against Nazis. You gotta be a stone cold mfer to not fight Nazis as they're literally taking over the world. In the rearview mirror, Sharon flashed a smug smirk, and Jordan's blood boiled. "I could and you know what?" she asked. "I _will_. I'm gonna have my own party that day and it's gonna make yours look like a graveyard."

"As if," Sharon dismissed.

"Watch me," Jordan vowed.

She meant it, too. Her pride was on the line here and there is no greater motivator than vanity, except maybe spite "It's gonna be lit. And you're gonna _beg _me to let you in,"

"So I can study suck in its natural habitat."

"We'll see about that, bitch."

Sharon crossed her arms with a flourish. "Yes we will," she said, "in the obituaries."

Candy's house appeared on the right, and Jordan pulled to the curb. Not slamming into the oak tree dominating Candy's front yard so that Sharon flew through the windshield took everything Jordan had. Take _that, _ho. Candy opened the door and slipped out, then closed it behind her. "Later," she said.

Putting the car in drive, Jordan drove the five blocks to Sharon's house, a brick split foyer with a towering chimney and attached garage. Her mother, a tall woman in a Hilary Clinton tier pant- suit, unloaded groceries from the back of an SUV parked in the driveway, and Checkers, the family dog, sniffed around the base of a tree, then lifted his leg and sprayed it with pee. Sharon got out and slammed the door. "Don't forget we have homework from Mr. Bradford."

Ah, yes, how could I forget, history. Tonight's assignment was to watch a ninety-minute video from some website. "The Effects of Aggressive American Imperialism on Indigeous Peoples Around the World, and Why White People Are the Root Cause of Every Problem Ever." That wasn't really the title but it was close enough. "I won't," Jordan said exasperatedly like she _never _forgot her homework and then had to beg the teacher for extra credit.

Which she did.

Kind of a lot.

"Just reminding you," Sharon said.

"I'll do it..._after _I plan my epic party."

Sharon rolled her eyes. "You're really doing this?"

"I really am," Jordan said with a resolute nod.

"When?" Sharon asked.

"The same time as prom," she said. "That way we can see who's party is _really _better."

Sharon's face settled into a hard glower. "Really? At the same time?"

"Afraid people are going to come to my party and not yours?" Jordan teased.

"No, I just think it's kind of scummy to do that. I've worked really hard on this and you're trying to ruin it."

Wait, scummy?

That pissed Jordan off. "Oh, so we're just going to forget that last year you decided to take all of our friends to Dairyland _on my birthday._"

Sharon missed a beat. Jordan's parents spent six months planning a huge party for her sixteenth birthday, just for Sharon to turn around at the last minute - KNOWING the party was set for Saturday, June 12 - and whisk their ten closest friends to Dairyland. The only people who showed up were Clyde, Lincoln, Poppa Wheelie, and Lincoln's younger sisters. Jordan wasn't a little crybaby or anything, but...yeah, she was upset, and if it wasn't for Lincoln consoling her, she probably would have sobbed into her pillow or something.

Because Lincoln was there, things turned out awesome and she didn't hold a grudge...but really? Sharon was the _last _person to talk about 'scummy.'

"You were invited, though," Sharon said and threw up her hand.

"That's not the point," Jordan said. "You knew for _months _that my party was going to be that day, and did that stop you?"

Sharon tossed her head back. "That's the only day I could get tickets for. It was either that or wait six months."

"You could have waited," Jordan said, surprised by the bitterness creeping into her voice. "But I guess your little trip to Dairyland meant more to you than I do."

Sharon's eyes narrowed. "You know that's not true. I just -"

"I'm having my party the same time as prom," Jordan declared, suddenly resolved, "and you can just suck it."

Before Sharon could protest, Jordan hit the gas and peeled off in a shriek of tires. She turned onto Evergreen Terrace, fingers curled so tight around the wheel that her knuckles turned a bloodless shade of white. Oh, that's scummy, Jordan, don't do that, Jordan, even though I did it to you.

Screw her. She was going to throw the best party ever, and _no _one was going to go to Sharon's dumb prom.

Now...for the hard part.

Actually doing it.

* * *

Lincoln Loud wrapped one arm around his chest, planted his elbow in his hand, and thoughtfully stroked his chin, looking for all the world like he was stoned off his ass and trying to make sense of something incredibly simple. Why, yes, the floor _is _made of floor. Lucy stood before him with her chin up and anxiety swirling in her dark eyes. Fourteen, painfully lanky, and thin to the point to emaciation (Lynn said she looked like she died in the Holocaust), she wore a pair of black sweat pants and a solid gray sweatshirt that hung from her meatless frame like jeans from a gangsta's ass. Her black hair was pulled back from her broad forehead in a ponytail that would look jaunty on anyone else but came across dour on her. That was the power of Lucy, though. She could make even the happiest, brightest, pinkest thing look dark and gloomy.

"So?" she asked. If you didn't know her very well, you'd think that her expression was blank and her voice monotonous. That was not the case. Those well-versed in the way of Lucy would instantly pick up on the hopeful inflection in her voice and the strained set of her mouth. In her own way, she looked like a little girl wanting, needing, praise for her masterful use of crayons.

Praise that Lincoln was not going to give her.

"It looks like shit, Luce."

Lucy's shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Sigh."

Lincoln brushed past her, put his hands on his hips, and regarded the canvas with a critical eye. The painting - New Orleans' French Quarter at night - stared back at him. The street, cast in the watery light of a wrought iron lamp, was filled with Mardi Gras revelers. Vampires, werewolves, voodoo shamen, and the ghost of Jeffery Episein with a noose fashioned from bed sheets around his neck. "Your perspective is off," Lincoln said, "the characters' noses look like Voldmort, their hands are...weird...your color palette is too dark -"

The artist opened her mouth and raised her index finger.

"I know that's what you were going for," Lincoln forestalled, "but it doesn't look spooky, it looks like you accidentally squirted on too much black and did your best to spread it around...but your best wasn't good enough." He tapped a face in the crowd. "What's this vampire's deal?"

Head hung, Lucy muttered, "He's having a good time."

The creature's mouth was open in a perfect O, as if screaming in pain, and its eyes were rolled up to the sky, seeking, perhaps, divine intervention to end its suffering. "It doesn't look like it," Lincoln pointed out. "He looks like he has gas. And that werewolf's arm is out of place. It should be a good two inches lower. Jeez, Lucy, were you even looking when you painted this?"

Lucy was silent. Always artistic, she was inspired to pick up painting a year and a half ago after joining a cartoon fandom and getting heaps of praise for her doodle-art. She wanted to be a serious artist one day and show her work in galleries.

The chances of that happening were small...no offense to Lucy. For every artist who achieves that level of success, there are a thousand who don't, and many of them are very good. In order to help her, then, Lincoln had instituted a policy of 100 percent honesty, delivered as bluntly as a hammer blow to the head. Coddling her wasn't going to help, giving her empty praise wasn't going to help, and treating her like a kindergartener with a crayon and cookie crumb drawing (let's just put this on the fridge, Lucy-wucy, good job, gold star) _really _wasn't going to help her. Pointed and constructive criticism, on the other hand, would.

That was something Lincoln had learned well in his seventeen years. Head pats and participation trophies might make you feel good, but they encourage and incentivize mediocrity. If Lucy was going to be an artist, she was going to be the best, and Lincoln was going to see to it.

You can't push someone to greatness on just pointing out their flaws, though. That's what ignorant assholes do.

"On the bright side, it's much better than your last piece," he said.

Lucy perked up. Her last masterpiece was of space aliens doing Spartan battle with an army of Bigfoots (Bigfeet?) in a cow pasture.

It was garbage.

"Really?" Lucy asked.

"Really," Lincoln confirmed. "Now do another."

He ruffled Lucy's hair, which she hated, then went out into the hall just in time for a frog to hop into his path. Lincoln skidded to a stop and looked around for Lana, but she was nowhere to be found. Hopps looked up at him, and bending, Lincoln scooped him up. "What are _you _doing out?" Lincoln asked softly.

Hopps croaked. _Just stretching my legs_.

"Let's find your mother," Lincoln said.

They found Lana in hers and Lola's room. She lay on her bed with her legs propped up and her iPhone in her hands, thumbs blazing across the screen. One Chuck Taylor clad foot jittered restlessly and the bare flesh poking through the ragged hole in the knee of her jeans was crisscrossed with cuts, scrapes, and scars both old and new. Over the years, she had gone from a lover of animals in particular to nature in general, and passed most of her time outdoors, hiking, swimming, tree-climbing, and exploring the wilderness surrounding Royal Woods. Her typical discoveries included sunburn, bee stings, and twisted ankles, the latter owing to her boundless energy. She didn't just hike, she hyper-hiked...which is like hiking only instead of walking, you're running. Sound fun? It is...until you fall headlong down a steep hillside.

Lincoln knew firsthand because he used to hyper-hike with her.

Used to.

He waited for her to acknowledge him, and when she didn't, he cleared his throat. She lowered her phone and frowned, puzzled, like him being here were a strange and unexpected occurrence. "Hey," she said.

"I found something that belongs to you," he said and held up the frog.

Her frown deepened and she shot a confused glance at Hopps' cage. The top, as usual, was open. "Whoops," she said sheepishly, "I, uh, forgot to close it."

"I know," Lincoln said. He carried Hopps over and sat him inside. The frog gave a thank you croak and hopped over to its water. Lincoln closed the lid and turned to his younger sister, who was already back to texting. "You've been on your phone a lot lately," he said knowingly. "Who you talking to?"

"No one," Lana said.

Oh, he doubted that. He bet it was that Skippy kid she liked. Oh, she pretended that she didn't to keep up appearances in front of the family, but Lincoln had seen them holding hands on the way home from school: Whenever they got close to the house, she pulled away, shoved her hands into her pockets, and power walked away.

Except for the time she went back and kissed him.

Lincoln's wistful smile fell a little.

His twelve-year-old sister had her first kiss...and he hadn't.

Sad, huh?

He'd kissed girls before - like Ronnie Anne - but never with tongue. In his defense, he'd never had a serious girlfriend before. He was too shy to ask one out...especially after the long line of failures and rejections he endured in elementary and middle school. There was Cristina, who was so disgusted by him liking her that she switched classes (to be fair, that may have had more to do with her finding out he routinely made out with a photo of her), then Stella, who he was convinced liked him. When he asked her out, she laughed at him. _Oh, wow, no, you're not my type_. He asked Paige out at the beginning of school one day, and she agreed...then broke up with him at lunch. _I changed my mind, _she told him.

Each blow hit him like an uppercut to the guts, and after a while, he was too scared to try anymore.

Was he really that horrible? He could admit he looked kind of goofy with his cowlick, overbite, and freckles, but Poppa Wheelie and Clyde _both _had girlfriends, and while they were both bros, come on. Clyde was tall, skinny, and looked like a pedo, and Poppa Wheelie weighed a good 400 pounds. He looked like that Mass Transit guy from ECW only fatter. If those two guys could get a girl, _anyone _could.

Guess it's just a matter of matching with the right one.

Sigh. Easier said than done. He wasn't a sad sack, but he did want a girlfriend. Someone to kiss and hold hands with, to giggle over stupid stuff with, someone he could love and hold and cherish and -

"...all?"

He blinked and shook the gathering mist from his head. "Huh?"

"I said," Lana repeated slowly, "is that all?"

Lincoln glanced at Hopps then Lana. "Yeah, that's all."

In the hallway, he leaned back and winced at the crackle in his spine. Getting old, El Linc-O. Almost the big 1-8. Another few years and you'll be collecting social security. He started for his room, then jumped back when a smear of purple and black flew up the stairs and streaked past. "Hi," Lily said, "bye."

Her door slammed, and Lincoln jumped even though he was expecting it. He opened his mouth, but before he could call out an admonishment, the door popped open and Lily stuck her head out. "Sorry!" Without waiting for him to reply, she popped back into her room like a small, furry creature into its burrow, and closed the door again, more softly this time.

At least she apologized. The others...well, that was a different story. Being the oldest at home aside from Lynn - everyone else was either in college or already married and working a career (looking at you, Lori) - Lincoln was vested, by tradition and his parents' trust, with the responsibility of playing middle management. He helped his sisters with their homework, saw that their chores were done, and mediated disputes. It was a lot like herding sheep...if the sheep were vicious and didn't listen to a single order you gave them. Honestly, he had no idea how Lori did it. Each successive Loud to take her place - from Leni on down to Lynn - failed miserably. Leni had a breakdown and wound up hugging her knees to her chest in the shower, Luna gave up after six week and let whatever happened happen, Luan literally pulled her hair out, and Lynn...poor Lynn. After watching her three immediate predecessors being eaten alive, she clamped down like a third world strongman. Lights out at 8pm, no running, no laughing, no talking, no video games, no books, and God help you if your homework wasn't done fifteen minutes after you got home.

Finally fed up, Lola, Lana, Lucy, Lisa, and Lily crept into her room one night, tied her up with jump ropes, and beat her with pillows until she was punch drunk. The next morning, wobbly, covered in a patchwork of bruises, and dragging one injured foot, she limped into Lincoln's room and loomed over him, fists clenched. For a moment he thought she was going to kick his ass, but instead she took a deep breath. "You're the oldest now. Have fun."

Ever since, he'd been in de facto charge of his sisters. At first, the prospect terrified him - if they can break Lynn, they can break anything - but, honestly, it hadn't been bad at all. No, they didn't listen to him, and they respected his word about as much as Ted Bundy respected the commandment about not killing people, but they didn't tear him to shreds the way they did the others. He didn't know why. Maybe it was because the others were girls and there was some kind of power play/competition dynamic Or maybe they were all in love with him like waifus in an incest fan fiction and -

Lincoln threw up in his mouth. Just a little. He sure hoped they weren't, because that would be legit disgusting and he'd probably knock out the first one who tried something. _Oh, Lincy, it's me, Lola, your SISTER. Hope you're ready for that first kiss. _

*Roundhouse kick*

_Lincoln, I dream of our forbidden love._

*Piledriver*

_Male sibling, a word? Your eyes are like two beakers filled with amber liquid of indeterminable composition, and I fantasize about kissing you. Perhaps we might partake of a little incest?_

*People's elbow*

Seriously, no, that sounded -

His phone buzzed against his leg, bringing him out of his bizarre and unsettling reprieve. He dug it out of his pocket and held it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Linc," Jordan said, "I need _major _help."

Jordan was one of Lincoln's best friends. Probably, technically, his best since Clyde spent all of his time making out with Penelope and working at the antique store his dads opened in 2021. He'd known here for, like, four years and they hung out at least four nights a week, sometimes cruising Royal Woods on an endless circuit in her car and talking, and other times playing _Call of Honor _on XBox Live and pwning noobs. She was the broest bro he knew...and also stubborn as fuck. She was like Lynn and Lana and Ronnie Anne and...jeez, what's wrong with the girls in this town?

Anyway, if she admitted needing help, trust me, she _needed it_. "What's up?" he asked and ducked into his room, kicking the door closed behind him. The bed was neatly made and the desk under the window tidy and organized. A good Older Sibling leads by example...but keeping up on it was hard af sometimes.

"I made a _huge_ mistake," she said, and he imagined her chopping the air for emphasis. "I let my mouth write a check my body can't cash, now I'm _this _close to freaking out."

Yeah, that sounded like Jordan alright. "Uh-oh," he said and flopped onto the bed. Warm sunshine fell through the blinds and made long, shadowy bars across his chest. He kicked his shoes off and fluffed his pillow one-handed; this might take a while, so he might as well get comfy.

"I know," Jordan moaned. "My pride got the better of me."

"That happens a lot with you," Lincoln said with a trace of fondness. Jordan was _very _prideful. She was the type of person who would do something, no matter how dangerous or dumb, just because someone told her she couldn't.

_There's no way you can jump from your roof to your neighbor's. _

_Oh yeah? Watch me._

*Falls and breaks arm*

She also had the unfortunate habit of not thinking before she spoke, which lead to a lot of grief, heartache, and butt-hurt on other peoples' part. She once called Lincoln a buck-tooth loser during one of their infrequent spats even though she _knew _he was sensitive about his teeth. She apologized later on and Lincoln forgave her because getting carried away in the heat of the moment was so Jordan. Might as well get mad at a dog for pooping outside, or a cat for only acknowledging you exist when it wants something.

"Tell me everything," Lincoln said.

She did, starting with how much she hated prom and ending with calling him. Lincoln listened intently at first, then grew bored with her exacting detail. He leaned over, grabbed a tennis ball from his nightstand drawer, and tossed it into the air, catching it with ease. "Uh-huh." he said to prove he was still listening.

"Now," she concluded, "I have less than a week to plan an awesome party."

Lincoln snatched the ball out of the air. "Yeah, you really did it this time," he said. "Planning a party the right way takes at least two weeks. I mean...you _could _do it quicker, but prom's in…" here he searched his memory. "Four days. That's way too soon."

On the other end of the line, Jordan sighed. "I know. I really screwed up this time. What do I do?"

"Alright, first of all, does this _have _to happen on the same day as prom? Can you push it back a week?"

He knew what she was going to say before she even said it. "No. It needs to happen on prom. Sharon called me scummy even though she did pretty much the same thing, so I'm gonna show her scummy."

And there was her petty _and _competitive sides. Sometimes, dealing with her was too much like dealing with his sisters. "She didn't call _you _scummy," Lincoln pointed out, "she -"

"That doesn't matter," Jordan snapped.

Alright then. "Well, the first thing you need to do is get the word out. There isn't much time so you have to be quick."

She was silent for a moment, and Lincoln imagined writing his suggestion down on a notepad. "Okay, then what.'

"Then you plan the party," Lincoln said simply.

Jordan sighed. "I know _that_," she said, "_how?"_

"Well, obviously, since you have a pool, it should be a pool party."

Silence again. "Right. Pool party. That's kind of generic, though. I really wanna bring it to the next level. It's gotta be _big_."

Lincoln thought for a moment. Though he had a reputation for being good at planning and strategizing, he was kind of...not that great at it. Most of his schemes blew up in his face and left him barely alive - sometimes metaphorically, sometimes literally. If he was honest...he had no idea how to throw an epic party. A party, yes, but an _epic _one? One to rival the storied rite-of-passage of prom? No. Just no. Prom, you see, is a huge deal to a lot of kids. It's one of those milestone events that they spend years and years looking forward to, even if only subconsciously.

How can you lure people away from _that? _

He didn't know, but as he turned it over in his head, he realized something: He wanted to find out. "Well," he said at length, wracking his brain for ideas, "first, you hire a DJ…"

"DJ, got it."

Now what? He closed his eyes and tried to visualize the scene. There was the in-ground swimming pool, there was the hot tub, oh, and over there was the poolhouse, brick with a slate roof and ornamental, forest green shutters flanking the white trimmed windows. He saw kids froclicking in the water, drinking punch from red solo cups, a table behind which a DJ spun and scratched vinyl records, one hand pressed to the headphones covering his ear.

It looked cool and all, but not _I'd miss prom for this _cool. What could elevate it, though?

"You there?" Jordan asked anxiously.

"Yeah, I'm here," Lincoln said. "Just thinking."

"What else should I do?" Jordan asked.

_That _was the question. "Maybe get some vendors," Lincoln said. "Like a food truck or something. And some games."

"So...like a carnival?" Jordan asked.

"Sure," Lincoln said. "Maybe you can even rent some rides."

For anyone else that would be a tall order, but Jordan's family was well-off and could afford it.

She was quiet for a moment, then hummed thoughtfully. "What about bands?"

"That's a good idea," Lincoln said. A vision was taking shape in his mind and he was starting to get excited. Games, rides, a Farris wheel, booths from which wafted the smells of fried food, a makeshift stage. Jordan's backyard wasn't huge, but they could surely fit all of those things. Except maybe for the Farris wheel. Unless they could get their hands on a mini one, but, really, what was the point? Who wants to ride a miniature Farris wheel that doesn't even take you a hundred feet in the air?

"What about exotic animals?" Jordan asked. "Oh, and if we can get an MTV film crew, it'd be _huge_. Do you know the number to MTV? Nevermind, I'll Google it in a second. Oh! Idea! Idea! A waterslide. A _big _water slide. Like fifty feet tall." All of this came in a giddy rush, and if Lincoln didn't know any better, he'd say she was drooling like Spongebob over a Krabby Patty.

She was getting carried away, in other words, and while he found her enthusiasm endearing - even cute in a way - it fell to him to bring her back to earth. "Uh, I don't know about all that," he cautioned. "We need to think more realistic."

"But -"

"First thing's first," Lincoln said, cutting off her protestations, "we need to print some fliers and post them around school."

"I can make some now. How many?"

Lincoln thought for a moment. "I dunno, two dozen maybe."

'Okay," Jordan said, "I'll do that right now. Thanks, Linc."

"You're -"

She hung up.

" - welcome."


	2. Chapter 2

**Guest: Yes, it is. **

Tuesday morning, Jordan was up at the butt crack of dawn. The previous night, she was so excited that she could barely sleep and as soon as the first ray of light touche the eastern sky, she popped up like a female Jack-in-the-box. She _knew _calling Lincoln was the right thing to do. He gave the best advice and always knew just exactly what to do.

That was another reason she liked him.

Kicking the covers off, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stretched. It was 5:45 by the clock on the nightstand, which gave her an hour to get ready. Some girls needed that or longer, but not her. She showered in the evening (it helped her relax and unwind), didn't wear make-up (unless it was a special occasion), and didn't fuss with her hair or clothes - she brushed the former if it needed it and threw on the latter minutes before she walked out the door. That left her with a huge gulf of time to fill.

She scrunched her lips to the side and tapped her bare foot against the carpet. How should she spend it?

Oh, I know.

I'll print more fliers.

Leaning over, she snapped on the bedside lamp, got up, and crossed to desk. Yesterday's clothes were strewn across the floor, along with her shoes and her backpack, and she nearly tripped over a crumpled pair of underwear. Heart in throat, she threw up her arms to steady herself, then glared at her unmentionables. Really? You shouldn't even be here, you should be in the hamper.

Instead of stooping down to pick them up, she kicked them aside. Sitting at her computer, she booted it up and waited for it to load, then accessed Microsoft Word. The document was three quarters of a page long and filled with bold typeface, exclamation points, and clip art images: A hamburger, a pool, a DJ, and a Farris wheel.

FIRST ANUAL JORDANFEST. FRIDAY MAY 10th 4PM TO MIDNIGHT

FOOD!  
LIVE MUSIC!  
POOL!  
GAMES!  
PRIZES!  
FUN!

Jordanfest was kind of a dumb name, but she needed to call it _something_ and since she wanted to rub her supeority in Sharon's dumb face, it seemed fitting. She was up until eleven last night surfing the web for caterers, local bands, and amusement park equipment for rent. There wasn't much of the last one, but there _were _tons of musicians and food trucks in the area. She _might _have to forego rides, but that was okay, because there was a pool supply store in Elk Park that sold waterslides on the cheap.

If she were doing this on her own, she'd be extra nervous, but she had Lincoln on her side, and with Lincoln on her side, how could she lose?

She printed thirty extra fliers and sat them in a stack on the ones she copied last night. It was only then that she realized how many she had. Lincoln said to make two dozen (right?), but she went overboard and made over a hundred.

Whoops.

Oh well. Like the saying goes, go big or go home.

Done, she copy-pasted the flier, clicked over to Facebook, and posted it. HAVING A PARTY THIS FRIDAY, she wrote, IT'S GOING TO BE WAAAY BETTER THAN PROM. Next, she posted to Twitter and Instagram, then checked Facebook to see if she had any replies.

She did not, but someone _did _react.

Sharon.

With an angry face.

Jordan's eyes narrowed and she leaned forward, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Go ahead, say something, I dare you. She didn't, and Jordan was just a _little _disappointed.

Getting up, she dressed in a pair of blue shorts and a yellow T-shirt, gave her hair a quick brush, and pulled on her shoes and socks. She grabbed her backpack, and, like a sniper's bullet, something struck her.

Oh shit.

She forgot to do her homework.

Damn it!

She glanced at the clock. She had twenty minutes.

Damn, damn, damn. Shit. I _knew _this was going to happen.

For a moment, she considered leaving it undone. It was senior year and she was graduating in less than a month, so it's not like she had to worry about her GPA or maintaining a certain grade level to stay on a team. Years and years of conditioning, however, demanded that she do it. If she didn't, it'd bother her all day, like a pebble in her shoe.

Great.

Sighing, she threw her backpack over her shoulder and went out into the vaulted living room. Bright morning sunlight fell through the French doors leading to the patio and suffused the hardwood floor like liquid gold. Paintings watched from the creme colored walls as she made her way into the kitchen, and decorative vases stood atop pedestals. A black leather sofa faced stylish glass coffee table and an armchair huddled close. Her reflection darted across the darkened screen of the wall-mounted TV and outside, the pool rippled in the warm May breeze.

With chrome appliances, cherry wood cabinetry, and marble countertops, the kitchen was just as richly appointed as the rest of the house. A bar attended by stools split it in two, and a glass dining room table occupied one corner. Jordan went to the fridge, reached into the freezer, and came back box of Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwiches. She took one out, ripped the cellophane wrapper off, and sat it on a plate. She put it in the microwave for two minutes, then went over to the table. The house was tomb silent at this hour, both of her parents having already gone to work, and before she got started, she put on some music to liven the place up a little.

When the microwave dinged, she got up, got her sandwich, and went back to work, dividing her attention between eating and solving equations. She wouldn't be able to watch Mr. Bradford's video, but she could fake like she did.

She finished five minutes after she should have been out the door. Damn, damn, damn. She hated running late. It was like being squeezed in a vise. She shoved her things into her backpack, dropped her plate into the sink, and hurried out, stopping to lock the door behind her. Her house, situated on a broad avenue in Royal Woods' most fashionable neighborhood, was screened from the street by fastidiously manicured shrubbery. A horseshoe drive threaded around a stone fountain and a line pine trees flanking either side of the arm accessing the street formed a natural tunnel of light and shadow.

Her Mustang was parked next to the detached garage, the top up to protect the interior in case of rain. She tossed her book bag in, climbed behind the wheel, and lowered the top. Warm sunshine bathed her exposed flesh and the breeze gently rustled her hair. She jammed the key into the ignition and pulled her seatbelt over her chest, adjusting the strap so that it rested between her breasts. They weren't very big so it didn't stay in place and wound up smooshing her right boob. Normally, having a smaller cup size was fine with her - who wants to lug around massive ass boulders? - but every once in a while, tig ol biddies came in handy.

As she drove to Sharon's house, she thought of Lincoln. Like every morning, she was really excited to see him. Today was special though because he agreed to help her with party stuff, which meant they'd get to hang out after school.

Score.

Oh, God, not in that way! Just...hanging with Lincoln was always a win. Never a D.

Not that kind of D!

Now she was blushing and her stomach felt all dumb and fluttery. At a redlight, she squirmed in her seat and readjusted the seatbelt. It would be a lie to say she never thought of...you know...that...with Lincoln, but not often because it made her all weird and quivery...which she did not like.

At the same time she did.

Confusing, huh? From what little Jordan knew of boys and romance, it was all _very _perplexing and so complicated that you'd be better off avoiding those topics entirely. Get a cat and stock up on dinners for one, 'cuz love is a million piece puzzle.

In other words...daunting.

But he was so cute and kind and sweet and -

A horn blared and she started. The light was green now and behind her, the driver of a pick-up truck threw his hands into the air. _What shade of green are you waiting for, lady?_

Oops. Sorry.

Jordan pressed the gas and guided the car through the intersection. Two blocks over, she hung a right and got to Sharon's house just in time to see her friend disappear around the corner ahead. She probably got tired of waiting. Jordan caught up with her and slowed to a crawl like a pedo stalking a schoolgirl. _Get in, baby, I got free A's in my pants. _

Uh, actually, no, you got a single D and two Bs. That's not worth being molested, man, sorry.

Sharon followed the sidewalk in a hard stride, her curly hair swishing around her shoulders like the tail of an angry cat. She didn't stop, didn't even turn, and what Jordan could see of her profile was strained and stony.

What's _her _problem?

Jordan hit the horn, sounding one quick, sharp beep, and if anything, Sharon's pace quickened. "Hey," Jordan called, toing the gas to keep up, "you getting in or what?"

No reply.

Well then. "Look, I'm sorry I'm late, I -"

Sharon spun on her heels, and Jordan stamped on the brakes, coming to a jolting stop. Her friend's face, normally pretty and delicate, was twisted into an ugly mask of hatred, and her brown eyes blazed with the fires of hell. "_Don't talk to me!" _she hissed. If this were a cartoon, her teeth would be fangs and lightning would crash around her head.

"Why?" Jordan blurted.

"You know why," Sharon retorted. She wheeled around and stalked off, and Jordan looked after her until she was gone. All the way to school, she figuratively scratched her head. Why was Sharon so pissed? Was she on the rag? That made sense, but -

Oh.

Right.

Duh.

The party.

But was she really _this _upset over a dumb party?

Yes, she was.

Fine, then. Let her get her panties in a twist. Jordan would show her. She'd show _all _the promfags. _Hey, why is the gym empty? Where is everyone?_

_At Jordan's party because it's better than ours. _

Savage glee filled her, and she tightened her grip on the wheel. You wanna play, Sharon? Let's play. I'll blow you so far out of the water you'll be in the freaking desert sucking moisture out of a cactus. _Oh, I'm so thirsty and the nearest body of water is a thousand miles away, help me. _She'd see.

Oh, she would _definitely _see.

Royal County High, an ancient two story brick building with a jutting overhang protecting the main entrance from the elements, was situated at the end of Schoolhouse Road between a stand of pine trees and a wide athletic field surrounded by bleachers. There, every Friday night during football season, the Royal Woods Roosters got their asses handed to them by other teams. It was so bad the newspaper often ran their coverage of the games in the obituary section rather than on the sports page.

Come to think of it, all of Royal County's teams sucked, from the kindergarten T-ball squad to the track and field crew. The only ones that actually scored any victories were the ones Jordan was on. Coincidence? I think not.

The student parking lot was on the building's east. Jordan slid into a spot next to a battered pick-up, put the top up, and got out. She leaned in the back, grabbed the stack of fliers (holy moly, its so heavy), and slammed the door. Struggling, arms straining and sweat springing to her forehead, she crossed the parking lot. Kids made their way to the front doors from every direction, some carrying backpacks, some talking on their cellphones, and others still holding hands with their bf/gf. For some reason she absolutely could _not _fathom (uh-uh, not at all), she thought of Lincoln. His hands were nice. He, uh...had fingers in all the right places, and that knuckle game...it was on point.

What would holding it feel like?

That thought came with the suddenness of a sucker punch, and her heart bounced. Let's not think about that, shall we? Let's focus on something else.

Like Sharon.

Heat spread across the back of her neck, and her mood darkened. Part of her said fuck Sharon, but another part, a small but vocal minority in the center of her brain, said _maybe you went too far, Jordan_. Sharon and the other kids on the committee _did _work really hard on planning prom and Jordan could totally see why Sharon was mad. She was stealing Sharon's thunder after all.

B-But Dairyland…

It's not like Sharon did that intentionally. She didn't sit there and say _Gee, I'm gonna buy these Dairyland tickets specifically to screw Jordan over. _

That's exactly what Jordan was doing, though. She didn't _have _to have the party on the same day as prom. In fact, she didn't even have to have it at all. That would be _so _much stress off her shoulders.

But it would also be an admission of defeat, and Jordan Fletcher never admitted defeat, even when she was broken into tiny, bite-sized pieces. Sharon told her she couldn't throw a better party, and where Jordan came from, when someone does that, you prove them wrong.

And, damn it, that's what she was going to do now.

_Even if it ruins your friendship?_

That thought gave her pause, but then she shoved it away and went on. Principal Brudos, a short, fat man with a strawberry blonde crew cut and freckles, stood by the door in a suit, his hands clasped behind his back. He watched the students filing past with the mild distaste of a lofty lord forced to mix with commonors. Jordan lowered her head like a chided dog and hurried past. In the lobby, she paused and looked around. The office was off to her right behind a glass partition and to her left, a nearly empty trophy case bore silent witness to Royal Woods' suckitude. The cafeteria was ahead, beyond a T-shaped junction, and lockers lined either cross hall. She went to hers, put in the combo, and opened the door. She hefted the fliers in and grabbed a few.

She'd put these on the bulletin board next to the office then, during one of her classes, she'd get a hall pass, come back, and shove one into every single locker in the whole building. LOL. She slammed the door just as Lincoln walked up. When she saw him, her heart did a backflip and her stomach gave a mighty kick that made her knees weak. Six feet tall with a sweep of shaggy white hair and freckles, he wore a short-sleeve button up open over a white T, jeans, and white Vans (damn, Linc, back at it _again_ with the white Vans). He clutched the strap of his backpack with one hand, and the wiry muscles in his forearm flexed with every step. Jordan's eyes zeroed in on it and she barely stopped herself from licking her chops like a hungry dog.

Hunk at 12'o'clock.

Her cheeks turned bright red and the obscene compulsion to giggle like a little girl grabbed her by the front of her shirt. Gah, who am I anymore?

Swallowing, she flashed a sly grin that felt suggestive on her face. Oh, God, did it look that way? Please tell me it doesn't look that way.

Lincoln saw her, offered a friendly smile, and nodded. You know...despite all that stuff she said about being worried their friendship would suffer and stuff...he was so cute and awesome and goddamn it, she wanted to be his girlfriend.

Now.

Screw beating around the bush.

"Hey," he said and stopped at his own locker.

In that moment, Jordan made up her mind.

She was going to boyfriend this guy and _nothing _was going to stop her.

Her stomach quivered and all of a sudden, she felt kind of sick and fluttery. What if he wasn't into her? They'd known each other for years and he never so much as looked at her. If he had even a tiny little bit of like for her, he would have done or said something by now, right? Then again, common knowledge had it that boys are pretty dumb when it came to romance stuff. You gotta hit 'em over the head with your affections or they'll remain forever clueless.

Or was that bullshit?

After all, common knowledge once told her boys are yucky and infested with cooties. That was so far from the truth it might as well be on the other side of the world. It was kind of presumptuous to assume Lincoln was naive, and it was _really _presumptuous to act like _she _wasn't. The moment she tried to say _Linc, I like you, let's hold hands all night long, baby, _she'd seize up like the steering column of a shitty. And like a shitty car with a seized up wheel, she would crash. She would crash _hard._

Okay, maybe she wouldn't come outright and say anything. Maybe she'd just…feel him out, see how he reacted to her hints. He'd notice them if she gave him enough. Other boys might be dumb, but not Lincoln.

"Hey," she heard herself say. She was surprised by the evenness of her voice. "You're still gonna help me out today, right?"

Lincoln pulled his history book out and closed his locker. "Sure am," he said, "barring unforeseen circumstances."

SInce he was the oldest sibling still at home, Lincoln was in charge of his younger sisters and sometimes had to pick them up from their after school activities and stuff. That was really sweet and all, but Jordan hated when it interrupted their time together. Hopefully nothing like that came up today and she got to have him all to herself.

"Awesome," she said, "so here's my plan."

She told him what she had in mind, and then handed him some of the fliers. "I wanna put them _everywhere_. We gotta hype this up and get people _pumped_." She closed her hand into a fist,

Lincoln chuckled. "Okay, I'll do my best. I'm not a very good hype-man, though."

_You're the perfect hype-man._ That's what Jordan wanted to say, but she choked at the last minute. Was that too forward? Nah. Plus, she kind of _had _to be forward if she wanted Lincoln to know unequivocally that she was into him. Even the smartest and most experienced guy can't pick up on hints if you don't give him any.

There was just one teensy, weensy little problem.

She didn't know _how _to drop hints.

Well...subtle hints. She could, like, twirl a strand of hair around her finger and bite her bottom lip, but that'd make her look like a doofus. Still, she had to do something.

Later.

She needed time to think.

Luckily for her, the bell rang, calling all students to class like Muslims to worship, and she breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll put these up," Lincoln promised and held up the fliers. "You have more?"

Jordan nodded. "A lot more."

"Okay, bring them to lunch."

With that, he turned and went off to his first class.

And all the while, Jordan stared at his butt.


	3. Chapter 3

When Jordan said she had a lot of fliers, Lincoln expected a dozen, maybe two, not a teetering tower three feet high. He was sitting at their usual table by the vending machine when she came in and he blinked in surprise at the stack in her hands. It was so heavy that she waddled side-to-side like a blonde penguin, clenched face red and coated in sweat. Strands of hair had worked loose from her French braid and stuck out at weird angles, lending her a harried appearance, and her bangs covered her eyes. She blew a puff of air in an attempt to get them out of her face, but they only stirred.

Lincoln literally facepalmed. He really should have seen this coming; going overboard was so Jordan.

Knees buckling and arms trembling, Jordan struggled over, a trail of fliers fluttering behind her. People turned their heads to look, and Lincoln pinched the bridge of his nose. "H-Hey." she grunted and dropped the fliers onto the table. She hung her head and caught her breath. "I got those fliers."

"I see that," Lincoln said as she slipped into the seat next to him. "How many did you make?"

Jordan panted for air. "I dunno. I forgot. A mega frick ton."

It sure looked like it, and these were just the leftovers. At some point during the day, Jordan had come through and plastered one to virtually every surface like a demented Johnny Appleseed. On his way to the bathroom, Lincoln counted fifty-three; one on every locker, two on every classroom door, three on the community events board in the lobby, and clusters of three and four at random intervals along the wall. A few loose ones papered the floor and stirred like wind-blown leaves around your feet. Lincoln shook his head. She's gonna get us in trouble, he thought as he passed, watch.

"Okay," he said with a slow, placating nod. "What are we going to do with them?"

Jordan's brow furrowed and she favored the stack with a thoughtful hum. Her lips scrunched back and forth and Lincoln swore he could hear the Final Jeopardy music playing if he listened hard enough. "I'm not sure," she said after a moment. "Maybe we can post them around town."

"You really want the whole town showing up?"

"Uh, yeah." Jordan said as though that should be painfully obvious. "The more the merrier."

He wasn't expecting her to turn it into such a big event, but there was really no reason not to, as long as they were properly prepared.

While she went to get her tray, Lincoln finished his lunch then opened his chemistry book. Since he and Jordan were going to be out later, he wanted to get his homework done now, or as close to done as possible. Jordan returned a few minutes later and sat in the seat immediately to his right, so close her leg pressed against his. Normally, she'd leave a space between them. Normally, come to think of it, she'd sit across from him. They were planning a party together, so sitting close made sense. "What'cha doin'?" she asked and took a drink of her milk.

"Homework," Lincoln said and flipped the page.

"Need any help?"

"It's chemistry," Lincoln warned.

Chemistry was one of the few subjects where he was undeniably better than her. They were evenly matched everywhere else (except for sports, even after growing up around Lynn, he still sucked at sports). Chemistry, however, was to Jordan what kryptonite was to Superman - it sent her to her knees in excruciating agony and might possibly kill her in high enough doses. Her helping him with chemistry was like Dracula helping Joel Olsteen with Bible study.

Lol. I gotta write that one down.

"So?" she asked.

Before Lincoln could react, she scooted closer and leaned in until her cheek hovered inches from his own. The clean, fruity scent of her hair broke over him like a spring breeze and the warm closeness of her body smooshing into his made him shiver. She laid her hand, palm down, next to his on the table and shot him an appraising glance from the corner of her eye, as though trying to gauge his response to her blatant invasion of his personal space. Lincoln tilted heavily to the right to get away from her. "Boundaries," he said.

"There are no boundaries among friends," she said. She scooted closer still and Lincoln had no choice but to let it happen. She was in one of her pain-in-the-ass moods. It happened from time-to-time. She'd pick on him, tease him, and do whatever she could to tick him off. He was used to it by now, so whatever.

"Fine," he said.

He went back to reading, but Jordan's nearness kept distracting him; her ragged breathing filled his ear and tickled his neck, her hair skimmed his cheek as she scanned the page, and her hand kept brushing his. Every time he moved it away, she crawled hers after it like a big, peach colored spider. Finally, he gave up and left it, but every so often, his eyes drifted from the page to check on it. The third time, she extended her pinkie and hovered it over his like she was going to touch him, then had second thoughts and yanked it away. He considered shoving her away and telling her to get lost so he could finish his work, but he didn't have the heart.

So he endured it.

Like the doormat he was.

Sigh.

He meant that jokingly, but it was kind of true, he was something of a doormat. His older sisters steamrolled him, his little sisters ran through him like a pair of batwing doors...Jesus, he was kind of pathetic. No wonder he didn't have a girlfriend. Girls like guys who are confident and assertive. He was neither of those things. Instead, he was pure soy.

Now he was depressed.

Oh well, at least he -

Something stroked his pinkie and he jumped like his name was David Lee Roth. Ahhh, spider!

Jordan ripped her hand away with a gasp and jerked her head sharply to the right to hide her face. It was beet red, as though every blood vessel had broken at once, and her chest heaved like her lungs were going to explode. Oh, it was just her being dumb. Whew. For a moment there he thought he was going to lose a digit to a hungry, cat-sized arachnid. "Will you knock it off?" he asked. "You scared me."

"Sorry," she said, scolded.

Lincoln narrowed his eyes and fixed her with a suspicious gaze - I don't trust you - then returned his attention to his book. After a few seconds, Jordan crowded him again. What kind of shampoo did she use? It smelled good.

"So...you have chemistry," she remarked.

"Yes," he, fighting and failing to keep a patronizing hilt from his voice, "I do."

Jordan nodded to herself and gulped. "I wonder if, uh, we might have chemistry."

We? Lincoln's brow knitted and he favored her with a sidelong glance. "You don't have chemistry," he explained. "You have Algebra III: Return of Algebra."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. "Yeah. True." There was an almost mournful edge to her tone, as though Algebra III was the most heartbreaking thing in the world. "I gotta go." She grabbed her fliers, jumped up, and rushed off.

It looked like she was fleeing.

Lincoln stared after her, then turned back to his book. What was with her? She was acting really strange. Did she feel okay? Was she sick? Did she lose her mind somewhere between first and second period?

Oh, wait, nevermind.

It was stress. Jordan's faults were many, and the biggest one, from where Lincoln stood, was her tendency to push herself. She was like Lynn in that regard: She couldn't just do something, she had to be the absolute best at it and blow everyone else out of the water. Lynn was a bragging ass showboat, though, Jordan wasn't. Lynn wanted praise, respect, adoration, and for everyone to fall on their knees in worship of her awesome might. Jordan wanted...he wasn't sure. To prove something to herself? No, he didn't think so. Insecure people need to prove things to themselves, and Jordan was probably the least insecure person he knew.

Whatever the reason, she rode herself like a rented scooter. The stress of putting this party together was already starting to get to her.

Maybe he should try and talk her out of it. For her own good.

Ha, fat chance of that. Once Jordan made up her mind about something, you'd need two nuclear missile and an army of millions to get her to change it.

The bell rang, and everyone started getting up. Lincoln sighed, snapped his book closed, and tucked it under his arm. He grabbed his tray one-handed and carried it to the little window to the kitchen. On the way, he passed Clyde and Penelope: They were sucking face so hard they could taste brain, and Mr. Chase, the freshman math teacher, spotted them from across the room, his gaunt face dropping in surprise. As Lincoln dumped his tray, he overheard him soldering them. "...again, it's to the principal's office with both of you."

A tiny, jealous part of Lincoln hoped they did go to the principal's office. That's what you get for having a girl before me, Clyde.

He'd self-loath later, though. Right now, he had other things to worry about...like Jordan giving herself a stress-induced heart attack.

And schoolwork. Can't forget about schoolwork.

It's the most important work there is.

After manning the drive-thru at McDonald's.

Keeping that at the center of his mind, Lincoln went to class.

* * *

Jordan sat in study hall with her elbow propped on the desk and her chin resting in her upturned palm, her face still hot from earlier. I wonder if we, uh, have chemistry. That line had been echoing through her head since she uttered it and it made her cringe every single time. Smooth one, Ex-Lax. Put that on the list of 101 Worst Pick-Up Lines ever because shudder. In her defense, it kind of slipped out...like a wet fart. She wracked her brain for a good ten minutes trying to come up with something to say, and that was the best she could do? Really? Ugh. Why was this so hard? Lincoln was her best friend - yes, even when she wasn't mad at Sharon. Talking to him came as easy as talking to herself (something she did from time-to-time). Yeah, okay, things were a little different now, but tighten up, damn. She could get being a little nervous, but this was too much. She was like a virgin school girl blushing and stammering over her crush.

Which, God, is exactly what she was.

Okay, while that was true, she was Jordan Fletcher. She was bold, brave, and never let anything get her down. She took the biggest foes and the most insurmountable odds and made them her bitch. That she couldn't do this pissed her off.

Royally.

She took a deep breath and let it slowly out through her nose. You're better than this. You've always gone out, grabbed life by the horns, and taken what you wanted without a second thought. Why can't you do this? Huh? Are you going soft? Do you need a bottle and a diaper change, you little baby? Wah wah wah, I have poo-poo.

Alright. Now it was personal. She had her pride and self-respect to uphold. Telling Lincoln she liked him was officially on the same level as throwing her party.

Which meant she was going to do it.

Just...not right now.

At the end of the day, Jordan gathered her things and went to her locker, put her books away, and grabbed the rest of the fliers, then joined a crush of kids pouring through the main doors. She spotted Candy up ahead and started to call out to her, but stopped herself. After getting out of the house late and then arguing with Sharon, Jordan totally forgot to pick Candy up, making her late. Now Candy was mad at her...just like Sharon.

Jordan let out a deep exhalation. Her second and third best friends were pissed and not talking to her and in both cases, it was kinda sorta her fault. That wasn't a good feeling at all.

But screw them. She had Lincoln. He was a better friend anyway.

Cuter, too.

Speaking of Lincoln, he was leaning against the Mustang when she walked up, his backpack at his feet and his eyes facing the street. An idea came to her, and a wicked smile crossed her lips. She pointed the keyfob at the car and hit the PANIC button. The Mustang gave a sharp, piercing yelp, and Lincoln launched into the stratosphere like a cat when you step on its tail. She snickered and went over. "Got'cha."

Lincoln held his hand to his heart and sucked a series of shallow breaths. "You're a dick," he panted.

"I know," Jordan chirped. She unlocked the car and climbed in behind the wheel. Lincoln slid into the passenger seat and propped his backpack between his feet. "Gotta keep you on your toes," she said.

"Thanks," Lincoln said sardonically, "I wouldn't wanna go soft."

Jordan jammed the key in the ignition and started the car. The engine caught with a low, satisfying purr. "Me either. You gotta be tough. Otherwise your sisters will eat you alive." She threw the Mustang into reverse, waited for a Kia to pass, then backed up.

"They already do that," Lincoln said.

Oh, she knew. She'd been over to his house enough to see how his sisters were. They didn't intentionally hurt or diss him, they were just a bunch of freaking brats in general. Not terrible brats, but they were stubborn and self-centered and mowed down anyone who got in their way. Lincoln, their parents, each other. She respected Lincoln all the more for not giving up and dipping the way Lynn had. He took his responsibilities as oldest seriously and was committed to doing the right thing by his siblings.

Jordan blushed.

Why was that so hot?

Suddenly self-conscious, she stole a look at Lincoln in her periphery. He stared straight ahead, a neutral expression on his face. She traced the lines and contours of his face with her eyes, and her stomach stirred as if with a million butterflies. She went back to trying to put the moves on him at lunch, and a pang of loss rippled through her stomach. If she had any balls at al, she'd reach across the center console, take his hand in hers, and tell him she liked him.

She did have balls, but...I don't know...an admission that big wasn't something you just threw out at random. The moment had to be right, and driving down Main Street, unable to give him her full and undivided attention because, duh, I need some to keep us from crashing, just wasn't it. Plus...you know...the party, and Sharon and Candy...she had a lot going on right now. She needed to focus on that, and later, once it was out of the way, she could concentrate fully on Lincoln.

One thing at a time.

And right now, the party was the thing.

Their first stop was Dell's Bakery on the corner of Main and Pine. Inside, Dell himself leaned against the counter, his hairy forearm so big around it had its own zip code. A former Marine who, allegedlykilled 100 of Saddam's men on a single day during Desert Storm, Dell looked more like a mountain than a baker. Standing in front of him, Lincoln beside her, Jordan felt two inches tall. No, literally, Dell was so big that even guys like Brock Lesner looked like toddlers next to him.

Since she didn't know how many people were going to turn up, she ordered as many cakes, pies, cupcakes, sandwiches, and pizzas as Daddy's credit card would buy. "Have you ever cartered an event this big?" Jordan asked.

"Sure have," Dell said. "Remember when they executed that asshole Ted Bundy and everyone was outside the prison walls thowin' a party? Who do you think fed them?"

Jordan kind of knew who Ted Bundy was (that guy from Married...With Children) but she had no idea he was executed and couldn't fathom why people were celebrating over it, but whatever. As long as Dell knew what he was doing, she didn't care.

"Do you mind if I put a flier in your window?" she asked.

Dell mulled it over. "Ten bucks."

Sigh. Jordan reached into her purse, took out her pocketbook, and handed him two crumpled five dollar bills. On the way out, she taped one of the fliers in the front window. Outside, Lincoln raised his brows. "Ten dollars well spent," he said.

She ignored the sarcastic inflection in his voice. "I know, right? Here." She split the stack in two and handed him half. "Start putting these up."

Lincoln went left and Jordan right. She plastered posters on every street sign, utility pole, and window she came across, making sure they were always at the perfect height to be seen. She even put a few at waist level to hit the midget demographic. Lincoln did the same, and slowly they spread apart. When they were done, they crossed to the other side of the street. In half an hour, all of Main Street was papered with fliers. "There," Jordan said when they met back up at the Mustang. "Now the word is officially out."

Next, they drove to a warehouse in Elk Park where the rental company Jordan looked up earlier stored its amusement rides. Merry-go-rounds, tilt-a-whirls, and a thousand other pieces of equipment filled a massive, hanger-like space, all dark and silent like sleeping Old Ones dreaming of their inevitable return. The supervisor, a chubby man in a blue work shirt that stretched tight over his gut, led Jordan and Lincoln through the maze, reading each contraption's name from a clipboard. "Pendulum, drop tower, scrambler, Fiery Fist'o Pain Jr., head smasher, butt burner, vomitorium, bumper cars, ax grinder, nutcracker…"

"Some of those sound really violent," Lincoln worried.

"Oh, they are," the supervisor assured him.

Jordan and Lincoln exchanged a sheepish glance. Heh. Let's not go with the nutcracker or the headsmasher. I want people to have fun at my party, not die.

After much heming, hawing, humming, and chin tapping, Jordan settled on the scrambler and the tilt-a-whirl. The former was a bulky metal contraction shaped like a giant octopus with eight long arms on the end of which was a cart. When you turned it on, the arms turned, dipped, and spun really fast, thereby scrambling the riders inside like a bunch of eggs. LOL. She also rented a twenty foot high water slide with jets that kept it wet and slick for your convenience. Those three rides put her back more money than North Korea makes in a year, and she could already hear her father's grumbled complaints. She'd just pay him back from the trust fund her grandparents made her. There was a lot in there.

Like...a lot a lot.

Because you can't just strap two huge carnival rides to the top of your Mustang, Jordan arranged for the company to deliver them the day before the party.

By the time all was said and done, pinkish evening light colored the western sky and the breeze had turned almost uncomfortably cold. Jordan slid behind the wheel and Lincoln sat in the passenger seat with a weary groan. They'd been inside for nearly two hours, and if he was anything like her, his feet ached like a mofo. "Are we done?" he asked.

Jordan bunched her lips to the side in thought. Were they? Let's see. Food? Check. Rides? Check. She still needed to get a DJ in the mix, but she could do that by phone. "Yep," she said and started the engine, "all done."

He flopped his head back. "Thank fuck."

"Oh, don't be a baby," Jordan said and backed up. She navigated to the exit and turned onto the street. "You didn't even do anything."

The lamps lining the street winked on, bathing the sidewalk and the brick and glass facades of the shuttered shops comprising Elk Park's main drag. "Glad to know my contribution counts as nothing."

Jordan playfully rolled her eyes. "I paid for everything, I, uh, well, neither one of us did much."

"I hung a butt load of fliers," Lincoln argued, then rolled his neck. "My arms and back are killing me."

"Oh, please," Jordan said dismissively.

Lincoln rubbed the back of his neck. "I think I need my lawyer."

Jordan's mouth dropped open in faux-shock. "You would not sue me...would you?" She glanced at him, and he ticked his head from side-to-side in thought.

"I dunno," he said haltingly, "I might. I could use some of that Fletcher money."

They were on US10 between Elk Park and Royal Woods now. Pine trees pressed close to the shoulders of the highway and stars twinkled in the rapidly darkening heavens. "Why does everyone talk about my family like we're rich?" she asked, genuinely perplexed...a little. "We're only millionaires. Jeez, you people act like we're Bill Gates."

In the passenger seat, Lincoln furrowed his brows. "Didn't he send you a birthday gift last year?"

"Yeah," Jordan said, "a couple thousand bucks. It's nothing."

Lincoln blew a raspberry.

Ahead, the highway curved to the right and slithered down a steep hillside. Royal Woods sat in a natural valley, its buildings clustered tightly together and the river defining its northern border swollen with spring run off. Jordan watched Lincoln from the corner of her eye and tried to amp herself up to tell him her feelings. She came so close the words trembled in her throat, then backed down.

Later.

She would do it later.

Three blocks from Main, she turned onto Franklin Avenue. Lincoln's house stood on the left, its windows all alight and its pitched roof thrust proudly into the sky like a ship's prow. Loss clutched Jordan's chest. She didn't want her time with Lincoln to end.

She pulled a U-turn and parked at the curb. Lincoln unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed his backpack. "See you tomorrow," he said. She started to reply, but he threw the door open, got out, and slammed it shut behind him, making her wince. He hurried across the front yard, climbed the stairs, and disappeared through the door.

On her way home, Jordan fought against the sudden and inexplicable urge to cry. He got out and ran away the moment they stopped. He didn't linger, didn't take his time saying goodbye, didn't kiss her…

Not that she was expecting that last one, but...the way he rushed off, almost like being with her wasn't special.

Like it meant nothing.

A surprise sob welled in her throat and stinging tears flooded her eyes. She swallowed thickly and botted her eyes with the heel of her palm. She cherished every minute she got to spend with Lincoln, and he wanted to get away from her as fast as possible.

She pressed her quivering lips together and inhaled deeply through her nose. He didn't mean it like that. It was past seven in the evening, he had homework to do, he probably needed to shower (oh, and have dinner), and...who knows what else. What did she want? Ten minutes of no, you hang up first?

No, but...if he liked her, he wouldn't be so quick to leave. He'd stall, delay, drag his feet. He didn't do any of those things, therefore he must not like her that way. In which case...what point was there in confessing her feelings? If he wasn't into her, he wasn't into her. He liked her as a friend and that was all. She should forget it and save herself the rejection.

A tight band closed around her chest.

She didn't want to be rejected.

Not by Lincoln.

She was on her street now. Big houses presided over spacious lawns and Bentleys, Cadalics, and Jaguars occupied cobblestone driveways. Wrought iron street lamps cast amber orbs of light and carefully landscaped trees shimmied in the blowing breeze. Jordan's heart weighed heavy in her chest and her eyes stared blankly over the steering wheel, seeing but not registering. She was the perfect picture of desolation and suddenly, she was so tired she could hardly sit up.

A block later, she turned into her driveway. The house was dark save for the sheen of the newly risen moon. Mom and Dad were likely still at work, or attending one of the cocktail parties or dinners that were basically work, but with booze.

For once in her life, Jordan was glad they weren't home for dinner; the last thing she wanted right now was to hang out...or even been seen. She parked in front of the garage and looked at herself in the mirror. Yep, she looked just as pale, teary-eyed, and crappy as she felt.

She pursed her lips and glared at herself. Look at you, crying because boo hoo Lincoln doesn't like me? You're pitiful.

But -

Buts are for sitting, not excusing. You need to grab this situation by the horns and tell him. Until then, tighten up.

I was going to, but -

WHAT DID I JUST SAY?

Sorry. I just don't think he likes me back. All signs point to him seeing me as a friend and nothing more.

You'll never know if you don't try. You know this. Let me ask you something: Did you sit around and wait for that spot on the basketball team to come to you?

No, I -

You went out, took it, and made it your bitch.

True. This is different, though.

No it's not. Lincoln's a dumb boy, and dumb boys need a push sometimes.

Jordan's face hardened. Lincoln is not dumb.

Shut up, bitch. You don't know shit about boys.

And you do?

Yes, I do, now shut up and listen.

Jordan closed her mouth and raised her brows. I'm waiting.

Lincoln just hasn't seen you that way. He thinks of you as a friend and not a girl. Just because he walked away without kissing you doesn't mean he never will like you. You have to talk to him. That's the only way.

What good will talking to him do if he doesn't like me?

You don't know if he likes you or not. He might not "like" you right now, but who knows what a good, hard nudge will accomplish?

Hmm. Her inner voice was right. She was getting worked up over nothing. She needed to talk to him and give him a nudge. If he didn't like her, oh well, she'd get over it, but as it stood, she didn't even know. She needed to sit him down, talk to him, and find out where they stood.

Unfortunately, she had this dumb party to worry about first.

Getting out of the car, Jordan went inside.


	4. Chapter 4

**Guest: I have an idea for one last Nikkicoln story, but I don't know if I will actually do it.**

* * *

**Lyrics to _Pump Me Up _by Grandmaster Melle Mel and the Furious Five (1984)**

The day of the party dawned clear and warm. Jordan came awake in a bar of golden sunlight just before her alarm went off and ran her fingers through her hair. She let it down the night before and brushed it until it was silky smooth, a task she abhorred but carried out because you can't leave a braid in forever.

She pushed herself to a sitting position and gave a big, joint popping stretch, her mouth opening in a giant yawn. She wedged her hand between the mattress and her butt, scratched, and smacked her dry lips together. Mist swirled through her head and for a second, she hardly knew where she was.

Memory came back to her, and the fog burned instantly away. Excitement squeezed her chest and her pupils dilated. The party!

Over the past couple days, Jordanfest had gone viral at Royal County High; everyone was talking about it and at least fifty seniors out of two hundred had already RSVP'd that they were going.

Jordan wasn't happy with those numbers. If they were anything to go by, the vast majority of kids were still going to prom. She might wind up with a packed house of freshmen, sophomores, juniors, and random-ass people from town, but they didn't matter. The whole point of this was to have more people than prom, and for all intents and purposes, she defined 'people' as seniors. If she had a thousand randos show up, great, but it didn't mean diddly squat if Sharon wound up with most of the seniors.

To that end, Jordan had been telling very small, very minor white lies. Tom Brady's gonna be there, she told the jocks at lunch the other day. To the cheerleaders: I invited Chip Skylark, me and him go way back. She promised a raffle for a chance to win a thousand dollars, but she actually planned to go through with that, only instead of a grand, the payout was going to be a liiittle less.

Like 250 bucks. Maybe. She'd spent a lot of money on this party already; if she kept up, her trust fund would dip down into 6 digit territory. Talk about strapped for cash!

Anyway, if Jordan wasn't happy with her numbers, Sharon really wasn't happy. To her, it seemed, Jordan taking even one senior was a personal affront to end all personal affronts. Every time they passed in the halls, Sharon shot her daggers, and Jordan shot daggers right back. The other day, they literally bumped into each other during class change. Sharon's lips drew away from her teeth in a sneer, and Jordan's did likewise. They circled each other like two junkyard dogs, shoulders hunched and hands balled into fists, but before it could come to blows, the bell rang. "You're lucky," Sharon said.

"You're luckierer," Jordan growled.

Yesterday, on the way home from school, Jordan was driving down Chipwood Street when she passed Sharon walking in the opposite direction. Not jerking the wheel to the left and running her so-called friend over took everything she had. She almost did it, but settled for flipping her off instead.

Stupid Sharon. Why did she have to be this way? Why did she have to be mad and make Jordan feel...guilty?

Because you're -

She did the same thing to me! Remember? Birthday party? Hello! 99 percent of my friends didn't even show up and it's all because Sharon knowingly bought tickets to Dairyland on the day of my freaking party. She said Oh, it was either then or wait six months. That should tell you where I fall on her scale of importance. I would never do that to her. If our roles were reversed and I was in her shoes, I would just wait the six months, cuz my friend's birthday comes first.

This was really all Sharon's fault, not hers. She was blameless, totally 100 percent blameless. In fact, Sharon should apologize not just for ruining her birthday party, but also for having the nerve to get mad for having the same exact thing done to her. If she was really Jordan's friend, she would take her lumps without complaint the way Jordan did.

Right?

She kind of had a thing about comparing everyone and their actions to her and her actions because what other point of reference did she have? Everyone probably did that, but, if she was honest with herself, everyone was different. If someone didn't do something exactly the way she did, she assumed their intentions and…

This was giving her a headache.

Suffice it to say, she expected everyone to think exactly like she did, and the fact of the matter is, they don't. So...maybe he was being a little bit unfair here.

Hmm.

No, no she wasn't, because intentions are irrelevant. Like...if you're hunting and you shoot at a deer but hit a person, you still hit them. Even if you didn't mean to, that doesn't change the fact that you just blew someone away.

That really wasn't a good analogy. Sharon didn't accidentally do anything. She knew full well what would happen, she just didn't care.

Therefore, Jordan wouldn't care.

Decided, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, got to her feet, and leaned forward to stretch her back muscles. She quickly dressed in a pair of blue shorts and a yellow T-shirt, then yanked her socks and shoes on. The house was eerily silent, but her parents' cars were in the driveway. Either they overslept or had the day off. When she mentioned the party, she specifically asked them to not be there. She loved her parents, but who wants their mom and dad hanging around during their big shindig? Not her...especially Mom. She just loved ogling teenage boys and making inappropriate comments about their bodies. Dad, for his part, would probably follow everyone around and make sure they didn't steal-slash-break anything. It took a lot of convincing for them to agree to it. Lock the house and keep everyone out, Dad told her, and any damages will come out of your trust fund.

The party had to be over no later than 8:30, and Jordan was completely responsible for cleaning up after it. There was a groundskeeper, but Dad forbid her from seeking his help. He didn't say anything about Lincoln, though. He'd help.

Thinking of Lincoln twisted Jordan's guts into a hopeless tangle. He'd been on her mind nonstop since the other day and the sloshing, sludgy dread in her stomach grew denser and denser with every passing moment. She had decided to tell him at the party...that is, today.

She was telling him today.

Heh, no pressure. And no, she was not nervous at all.

Lie. She was very nervous. More nervous than she had ever been for anything in her life. She liked to think she was tough and strong and nothing bothered her, but this week she learned that that wasn't the case.

And it irritated her.

Gee, you're human just like everyone else. How terrible.

It wasn't that, it was just how much emotion she vested in Lincoln. Like...she wasn't the type of person who really cared what others thought about her. She did her and if people didn't like it, they could get bent. She was free, independent, and her own woman...until it came to Lincoln, then she was a gushing idiot whose entire self-worth, life, and heart rested on whether or not he liked her back.

That made her weak.

And weak is a suck thing to be.

In the bathroom, she stood before the mirror and brushed her hair again, then weaved and twisted it into a tight French braid that tugged her scalp and brought tears to her eyes. She flopped it over her shoulder like a tail, used the toilet, and went back to her room, where she grabbed her backpack. In the sun-washed kitchen, she microwaved herself an egg and sausage sandwich and at it standing at the counter. Through the back window, the scrambler, the water slide, and the tilt-a-whirl patiently awaited the evening's festivities. Sunlight glinted on steely surfaces, and Jordan could almost imagine the rides were giving her a knowing wink. This party's gonna be sick, Jor'.

Yes, yes it is. Temperature of one million three.

After breakfast, she left the house, locked the door behind her, and drove to school with the top down and the wind blowing in her hair. There was something missing, and Jordan tilted her head to one side in an attempt to figure out what it was.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

She leaned over and turned the radio on. A commercial for the feed store in town went off, and a R&B pop song took its place. Oooh, this was hers and Sharon's favorite song. She turned it up, but instead of wrapping around her like a fragrance cloud in a cartoon, the melody fell flat. She liked this song, but...it just wasn't the same without Sharon.

Sighing, Jordan turned the radio off and listened to nothing. On a normal day, she, Sharon, and Candy would be laughing over something dumb, or picking on each other, or just talking about nothing in particular the way old friends do. Jordan took those fun-filled morning commutes for granted, and now that she didn't have them anymore, she really missed them.

But fuck Sharon. Sharon was a bitch. Candy too. Oh, I wanna stay out of it so I'm not hanging with either of you until you make up. That's what Candy told her, but she was butt buddying around with Sharon, she just knew it. Jordan had been prowling the halls like a sleuth in order to glimpse something incriminating - a passing word in the hall, Candy sneaking off to be with Sharon, etc - and while she hadn't turned anything up yet, she knew damn well it was happening behind her back. They could have each other, though, because after today, she was going to have Lincoln, and he was a waaaaay cooler friend anyway.

And hotter.

At school, she parked in a slot facing the street, killed the engine, and got out. Kids converged on the building from all sides like zombies in one of those old dumb movies, and Jordan joined their ranks. Duuur, look at me, I'm a zombie, durrr, I eat brains because I don't have any of my own, and neither does the director. Inside, she fought her way through the teeming mass and was thankfully spat out in close proximity to her locker. She put in the combination (42-39-56), opened the door, and rummaged through a confused mess of textbooks, loose papers, and sweaty, smelly gym clothes she kept meaning to take home but never did. The stench was enough to singe her eyebrows, and a couple kids passing behind her crinkled their noses.

"Oh my God," a girl said and waved her hand in front of her face, "what is that smell?"

A boy gagged and launched into a coughing fit. One of his friends slapped him on the back, a look of concern written across his face.

Jordan rolled her eyes. Oh, come on, stop being drama queens, it's not that bad.

Finding the right book, she slammed the door and jumped back with a start. Lincoln stood there like a vision of perfection, his nose pinched between his thumb and forefinger and his lips screwed up in disgust. "Ugh, what's that?" he asked, voice nasally.

Jordan gulped.

"Uh...not me."

"It smells like dirty diapers and rotten eggs."

Jordan blushed and looked down at her feet like a reprimanded child. Nuh-uh. "Yeah, it's kinda gross, huh?"

"Kinda?" Lincoln asked incredulously. "It's awful. It could gag a maggot off a meat wagon. It's like what I imagine the oven at Auchswitz smelled like after a long day of genocide. It's like -"

"I get it," Jordan snapped, then softened her tone. "Anyway, you're coming to the party, right?"

Lincoln nodded. "Yeah, I'll be there. I have to bring my sisters, if that's okay. Lynn saw your post on Facebook and kind of invited herself."

"That's fine," Jordan said. There would be so many guests and activities that the Loud girls would get lost in the shuffle, allowing her to pounce their brother.

With her heart.

The bell rang and Jordan sighed. Really, I couldn't even have a full two minutes with him? Whatever, lame ass bell. "I'll see you at lunch," Lincoln said.

"See you."

Jordan watched his butt wiggle and flex under his jeans as he walked away, then let out a dreamy, girlish sigh. What did his booty look like without the jeans? A wicked smile crept across her face and heat spread up the back of her neck. Probably hot. And squeezable. What did his - ?

She cut that thought off before it had time to form. She could think about all that stuff later, right now she needed to be 100 percent focused on the party and on beating Sharon at her own game. She could see herself now, triumph while her former-friend lay prone on the ground, crying, kicking, and pounding the dirt with her fists. It's not fair, Jordan beat me at my own game! That's right, I kicked your ass. Bet'cha wish you didn't step to me now, huh?

Head in the clouds, Jordan drifted through the hall with her book pressed to her chest. A gang of kids crowded into the nurse's office, some lying on their sides and moaning and others sitting against the wall, their faces pale and sweaty, and Jordan craned her neck as she passed to get a better look. Huh, what's going on in here?

The nurse stood at her desk and talked into a telephone handset. "...some sort of gas leak," she was saying. "Like rotten eggs."

IT WASN'T THAT BAD!

She turned away, jaw clenched, and came to a screeching stop. Ahead, Sharon froze in the middle of the hallway, her shoulders tensed and the corners of her mouth pulled up in a hateful sneer. Jordan's eyes narrowed and for a moment, they faced each other down like two Old West gunslingers meeting at high noon.

Oh.

This bitch.

Can you believe the nerve on this girl? You know what they say: People hate it when you treat them the way they treat you.

For a moment nothing happened, then Sharon made a guttural noise of disgust in the back of her throat. Averting her eyes, she strode past Jordan with her chin thrust out like she was too cool for school and her shit didn't stink. Jordan bared her teeth but bit her tongue. She could totally have decapitated Sharon with a sick barb, but she wasn't in the mood.

In her first class, she sat at the back of the room and gazed out the window. Dell would be at the house around three with an army of helpers and enough cakes, cookies, sandwiches, and sodas to sink a fleet of battleships. She had to be there to meet him. The DJ would be there around the same time. She hired the most expensive one in the area; his website said he was 'lit,' 'turnt', and 'on fleek.' That meant he had to be good.

Anything else? She thought long and hard, but nope, that was everything. She did have to set up a little bit - tables, chairs, things like that - but she could do that in minutes flat, especially if Lincoln managed to get there early and help her. Honestly, though, she didn't think he would, so she'd be on her own there.

No problem, though. She had everything major out of the way and taken care of. Hopefully nothing would go horribly awry at the last minute. That wasn't likely, but hey, you never know what'll happen. Life is full of surprises. What was that saying about chocolates? You never know what you're going to get? It was in a movie she saw once. Whoever said it, or in whatever context, it was completely right.

Later, at lunch, she sat with Lincoln at their usual spot. Clyde and Penelope were in detention for making out, Poppa Wheelie was in the hospital for his third triple bypass, and Stella stopped hanging out with them when she got serious about radical Asian nationalism, so they were as alone as two kids can be in the middle of a high school cafeteria. "You think you can come over as soon as school lets out?" Jordan asked. She twirled her fork in her spaghetti and took a bite. The noodles were stiff and tasted funny. She stabbed a meatball, and the tines of the plastic fork broke off. Yuck, frozen inside.

Again.

"I dunno," Lincoln said, "I have to get my sisters and it takes them forever to get ready."

Damn. She figured. She didn't need help that badly, she just, you know, kind of wanted to spend some time with him before everyone else got there. "Alright, see if you can, I could use some help getting set up but if not, don't worry about it." She sounded a lot more casual than she felt.

At the end of the day, she stowed her things in her locker (including that day's homework because there was no way in hello she'd have time to do it), then went to her car. A warm breeze swept the parking lot and amber strands of sunlight filtered through the wavering trees. The electronic sign out front read PROM 2NITE and as she passed, Jordan shot it a dirty look. Have fun with your little dance, Sharon. Meanwhile, I'll be throwing the BIGGEST party of the year and getting the boy. What are you going to get? Huh, Miss Prom? An empty gym populated only by balloons, teachers, and broken dreams, that's what.

I am LMAOing your failure already.

She got home just as a big white van marked DELL'S pulled up. It parked next to her car and Dell himself got out from behind the wheel. Instead of a white uniform and apron, he wore green combat fatigues, shiny black boots, a red beret, and aviator sunglasses. He looked like a Third World strongman, and Jordan blinked. Five men all dressed in olive green, some with guns on their hips, piled out of the back, and Jordan's heart leapt. "Hey!" she cried. "What are you doing?"

Dell lifted quizzical brow. "We're gettin' set up."

"Why are you dressed like…" she gestured, "that?"

Dell looked down at the front of his shirt. "Like what? This is how we always dress on the battlefield."

Battlefield?

His troops stood in a line, feet perfectly together, arms at their sides and chests puffed out. "T-This isn't a battlefield, though," Jordan said. "It's a pool party."

"I understand that, ma'am," Dell said, "but not all battles involve firearms."

Jordan started to reply, but he wheeled around and barked an order to his men, and they began hurried unloading the van. Dell pulled a fat cigar from his breast pocket, clamped it between his teeth, and touched a match to the end. The rich, aromatic scent of smoke filled the air. "Me 'n' my boys will be done settin' up the mess hall in no time." He took a drag of his cigar and blew the smoke out in a long plume. "Ooh-rah."

Ugh. What a weirdo.

Dell wandered off to supervise his troops, Jordan started to follow, but stopped when another van came up the driveway, its coming heralded by loud, funky old school rap.

I got a certain cool that breaks the rules

That get me paid and a lot of jewels

And the women I'm calling day and night

That's proof I'm getting mine like a thief in the night

Thick black smoke belched from its exhaust and the engine knocked sickly. Rust spots flecked its side panels and wheel wells, and as it pulled to a stop, a loud shot rang out, sending Jordan's heart into her throat. It wasn't a drive-by, though, just a backfire. Whew.

The driver door creaked open and a massive thing stepped out. Seven feet tall and light, seafoam green with a gaping maw and a long tail, it was…

It was…

A dinosaur?

It wore sunglasses, a white bandanna tied around its forehead, and a gold chain around its neck. Jordan gaped, realized her mouth was wide open, and snapped it closed. It wasn't a real dinosaur, obviously, just a guy in a suit, but...why? Like...that made no sense to her. Was he trying to be like that DJ who wore a Mickey Mouse head?

God, she had so many questions.

The dinosaur went around to the back of the van, threw open the double doors, and started to take out his equipment. Okay, I'm pretty sure my DJ was supposed to be a black guy. She whipped out her phone and went to the website. Yeah, it clearly showed a smiling black guy who was not seven feet tall.

Ugh!

She went over and stood next to him. He seemed even taller up closer, his giant body blotting out the sun. When he noticed her, he turned and looked her up and down with a sneer of distaste. "You need somethin'?" he asked.

"Uh...yeah...just a quick question," she said and held up the phone. "Where's DJ D-Von?"

The dinosaur blew a raspberry. "That nigga in county. They sent me instead."

County? "Like...county jail?"

"That's what I said."

Jordan sighed.

"Name's Dino," the dinosaur said. "I only play old school hip hop. Cut off year 1989. No gangsta shit, no cussin', I don't do that. I keep it wholesome in this bitch."

Jordan's jaw dropped again. "What? No. No one wants to hear fifty year old music. You're supposed to play new stuff. Good stuff."

"I do play good stuff," Dino said. "Flash, Bambaataa child molestin' ass, Rakim, Big Daddy Kane. Nigga, you ain't gon' find nothin' better than what I got."

She didn't even know who those people were! "I-I don't want that stuff. I want new stuff. My friends -"

"Fuck yo friends," Dino said. "Ol' weak ass, white ass, zoomer ass chumps. They think they better than old school, but ain't nothin' better than old school. You gon' see. Watch me put on Young MC and get y'all sour cream asses movin'. You gon' thank me, then you gon' ask me to make yo ass a mixtape."

"NO ONE LISTENS TO TAPES ANYMORE!"

"And that's why y'all generation get laughed at," Dino said with a nod that closed the matter.

Now Jordan was getting mad. Her caterers were dressed like an African junta and her DJ was telling he wouldn't play what she wanted. She paid 400 dollars for him! He was going to play the goddamn Hokey Pokey if she wanted. "I want a refund," she said.

Dino's face seemed to darken, and her heart skipped a beat. He loomed over her and fixed her with a deadly glare. "You gon' take it?" he asked. Her eyes darted to his hands. They were balled into big, battering fists.

"Uh...nevermind. Play whatever you want."

Dino rocked back on his heels and nodded. "That's what I thought." He turned in a swish of tail, reached into the back of his van, and took out a huge turntable with knobs, levers, and buttons. It looked at least ninety years old. "Now get out my grill, I got shit to do."

Throwing it on his shoulder like a fireman with a wounded man, he brushed past her and went into the backyard.

Jordan took a deep breath and let it out evenly.

It's okay, she told herself.

But it wasn't.

Not really.

It would only be okay when Lincoln got here.


	5. Chapter 5

THXXX11138: Yes lol

Lyrics to Jesse by Grandmaster Melle Mel and the Furious Five (1984); Bust a Move by Young MC (1989)

Lincoln sat in the passenger seat of Vanzilla and gawked at the cars parked up and down Jordan's street, counting fifteen before giving up. Behind the wheel, Lynn whistled. "Your girlfriend really outdid herself."

Lincoln barely registered Lynn calling Jordan his girlfriend. Lynn had been doing that ever since the first time he brought Jordan over to hang out when they were twelve and no amount of impassioned denials would shut her up.

In the back, Lola, Lana, and Lucy jostled for position. Lola threw out her elbow, caught Lana in the chest, and peered out the window.

Cars lined both sides of the street for blocks and blocks in either direction, and gangs of people - some wearing swim trunks and towels draped over their shoulders - made their way toward Jordan's driveway like Muslims to Mecca. Further on, a couple rednecks sat in lawn chairs arranged in a semi-circle around the open tailgate of a pick-up truck and drank from cans of Natty Ice. A charcoal grill blocked the sidewalk and a fat woman in sandals and a black T with NASCAR across the front flipped hamburgers while kids chased each other with water guns. One bumped into her, and opening her toothless mouth, she let out a hillbilly cry of frustration. At the end of the block, a cop wearing an orange vest over his uniform directed traffic. A van with 101.5 FM written across the side was parked under the shade of an oak tree, and a reporter stood in front of a camera and spoke into a microphone.

"Wow," Lola marveled.

Finding a spot to park was next to impossible, and cursing under her breath, Lynn had to drive all the way back to Flip's eight blocks south. The parking lot was filled and Flip stood out front, money literally poking out of his pockets. PARKING 10 DOLLARS read a sandwich board propped against the gas pump. "Flip," Lucy said knowingly, "at it again."

"Lincoln can pay," Lynn stated.

Ten dollars lighter, Lincoln shoved his hands into his pockets and followed his sisters down the narrow sidewalk. The streets were jammed a mile out, and throngs of people streamed along either side. Holy shit. He figured the party would be big, but this was retarded. Everyone in town was here.

Twenty minutes after setting out, they reached the bottom of Jordan's driveway. Two stone pillars bearing golden lion idols flanked it to either side, and the wrought iron gate stood open. It was roughly a quarter mile from here to the house, which basked in the sunlight like a big cat, and the grounds were packed. Parked cars, people grilling out. Someone set up a volleyball net between two trees, and a group of shirtless college boys played a heated game between a gaggle of girls in bikinis. Lincoln's eyes crept over their tanned flesh, and his throat went dry. Elsewhere, a guy in a tank top with U MAD BRO? across the front hugged a blonde from behind, and Lincoln envied him so hard it hurt.

"Jeez, this place is bumpin'," Lynn said with a smirk.

That's when Lincoln heard the music. Faint at first, it steadily increased in volume as they approached.

He started on the bottom

Now he's on the top

He proved that he can make it

So don't never stop

Brothers stand together and let the whole world see

Our brother Jesse Jackson go down in history

If Lincoln thought the front of the house was mobbed, he was in for a surprise when they got around back. People, some young and muscular and others old and flabby, packed the pool like sardines in a can. Guys horseplayed on the sidelines, girls sunned themselves in lawn chairs, and a man in a giant dinosaur suit stood behind a DJ table, scratching a record with one hand and holding a pair of earphones to the side of his head with the other.

See Ronald Reagan speakin' on TV

Smilin' like everything's fine and dandy

Sounded real good when he tried to give a pep talk

To over thirty million poor people like me

"Let's give it up for my nigga Jesse Jackson!"

No one paid him the slightest bit of attention,

"Jackson '84, y'all!"

Closer to Lincoln, three men and a woman sat at a table laden with microphones, wires, and computers. A sign reading 101.5 DEX AND KATE IN THE AFTERNOON was taped to the front, and Lincoln blinked in surprise. Dex and Kate was one of the region's most popular drive time radio programs. "This is Dex comin' at'cha live from Jordanfest I in Royal Woods, the home of the Roosters."

One of the other guys pressed a button, and a very crow-like CAWWWW sounded from a panel.

"If you're not here, I feel bad for you, son, because I got 99 problems and being at an epic pool party ain't one."

"Holy shit," Lynn muttered, then broke out in a sly smile. "This is awesome."

"It's my chance to be a star," Lola said dreamily. Before Lincoln could stop her, she drifted over to the broadcast booth. Lincoln started to go after her, but a guy bumped into him, and suddenly people were all around. He fought his way through them and stumbled onto the concrete apon skirting the pool. Jesus Christ, this is too much.

Where was Jordan?

He looked around and spotted her over by the pool house. She wore a yellow bikini that showed off her sleek, toned body. Lincoln's throat closed and for the first time in a long time, he remembered that Jordan was a girl.

She bent slightly forward, knees pressed together like she had to pee, and held her hands up to her face, fingers hooked into talons. Her lips peeled away from her teeth and a flicker of madness went across her face. Someone cried out behind Lincoln, and her eyes widened. "No, please, don't!" she cried over the din.

Lincoln turned just as a college kid leapt from the roof of the house and landed in the middle of the pool with a mighty splash. Three more followed suit, and Jordan frantically waved her hands. "Stop! You're gonna die!"

A fat man in red swim trunks came out of the house, a long trane of toilet paper stuck to the heel of his bare foot. "Shitter's clogged!" he called.

Jordan gaped as though she couldn't believe what she was seeing, then shook her head. "How did you get in there?"

"Door was locked so I broke the window."

Jordan clawed at the side of her face and let loose a mind-bending ahhhhhh.

Scratching his furry stomach, the fat man wandered off, and Jordan tugged at her hair. She looked like she was one stiff breeze away from having a full-blown meltdown. If Lincoln didn't do something quick, she'd blow a gasket.

Someone appeared beside him and he started. He expected Lucy, but it was Lynn. She held a red solo cup and nodded to the music. "Lynn, keep an eye on the party," he said, "don't let it get too out of hand."

"But that's -"

"Just make sure no one breaks anything," he commanded. He didn't typically use that kind of tone with his sisters, but Jordan needed him right now.

"Alright," she sighed.

Leaving her to it, Lincoln hurried over to Jordan, who pulled at her hair and shook like a tea kettle on a hot stove. He slipped his arm around her shoulder, and she trembled lightly against his body. She stiffened, then, when he led her away, she relaxed and melted into him, her shape soft and warm. "People…" she mumbled like a dazed refuge, "dinosaur DJ...too much...shitter's clogged...DEX!"

"Shhh," Lincoln said, "it's alright."

She blinked like a woman coming awake from a trance and looked up at him, the traumatized mist in her eyes burning off. "L-Lincoln?" Her cheeks turned beet red and Lincoln frowned. Flushed? Delusional? It looked like she had heatstroke.

Uh-oh.

This was not good.

"It's me," he said in his most reassuring tone.

She opened and closed her mouth as she fumbled for a reply, then gave up and rested her head gratefully against his shoulder, her hand splaying on his chest. Her knees shook and Lincoln held tighter. He should have gotten here earlier. Now she was messed up from stress and having to set everything up by herself, and it was his fault.

Good one, Stinkcoln. What a great friend.

"I'm here now," he said more to himself than to her.

In the kitchen, he helped her into a chair, then went to the sink. He grabbed a glass from the drying rack, filled it with water from the tap, and brought it to her. Broken glass littered the hardwood floor and the stench of dirty bathroom assaulted his nose. "Thank you," she said and took a drink.

"I'll be right back," he said.

As he half way expected - and all the way feared - standing water covered the floor in the hallway. Sopping wads of toilet paper dotted the mess like dirty icebergs and brown nuggets glided over the surface. His stomach turned and bile rose in the back of his throat. The bathroom door stood open, the light on, and the sound of gushing water found his ears. Panic swept him and he froze up. What do I do? What do I do?

Then it hit him.

He went back through the kitchen and onto the patio. The seething mass of people jamming the pool tossed a beach ball back and forth and a few black guys tossed horseshoes at a metal pole jutting from the ground. Lynn stood on the DJ table with her hands sternly on her hips and scanned the revelers, a whistle around her neck; where she got it, Lincoln didn't know. A fat boy ran around the pool, and Lynn blew the whistle. "NO RUNNING!"

The DJ glared up at her, murder tattooed over his fixed features. "Imma stick yo ass you don't get down."

"Can it, Barney," Lynn said.

Lincoln went off in search of Lana and found her making out with Skippy on the far side of the house: She had him pinned against the siding and attacked his mouth with hungry fervor, and for the first time in his life, Lincoln wasn't jealous of her having her first kiss before him. It looked painful. "Hey."

They both jumped, and Lana pulled quickly away. "It's not what it looks like, Linc, honest."

"Whatever. I need your help."

"With what?"

Lincoln took a deep breath. "Can you unclog Jordan's toilet?"

Lana's face lit up. "Can I?"

Back in the bathroom, Lana knelt in the scummy shit water, shoved her arm into the bowl, and plastered her tongue to her upper lip in determination. She fiddled around, then grinned. "Got it. And it's squishing through my fingers."

Ugh.

While she did that, he went to check on Jordan. She sat where he'd left her. Shoulders tensed, jaw clenched, she craned her neck to see out the window. Lincoln dropped into the chair across from her and let out a weary sigh. He waited for her to acknowledge him, and when she didn't, he cleared his throat. "So...cool party."

She turned her head away and looked down at the table, her face a mask of exasperation. "No, it's not," she said. "It's dumb, stressful, and I'm not even enjoying it. They're breaking things, they're running, they're jumping off the roof, they interviewed me on TV and I looked dumb, and to top it all off, your sister and the DJ just got into a fist fight."

Lincoln's face fell. "What?" He looked out the window. Lynn and Dino lay side-by-side on the apron, both panting and covered in bruises. Someone kicked Dino, and someone else snatched the whistle from around Lynn's neck.

"Look at me, guys!" he cried and blew it. "I'm a boomer. No running!"

Lincoln sighed and held his face in his hands.

"I bit off way more than I can chew and I'm gonna ahhhhh." Jordan bared her teeth and gave a body-wide shudder.

"I know the feeling," Lincoln said. "We need to relax somehow or we're both going to go full Joker."

Jordan thought a moment, then said, "And I know how."

The party raged on into the evening. A riot broke out at Flip's when he changed his price from 10 dollars per car to 30. An angry mob chased him inside, then smashed through the windows and laid waste to his place of business while he cowered and wept in the back office. The SWAT team arrived just in time to stop them from torching the place. By the end of it all, clouds of teargas choked the air and a dozen people lay on their stomachs with their hands zip-tied behind their backs. At the high school, seniors in fancy tuxedos and dresses streamed into the gymnasium. Sharon counted heads and was pleased to find that most everyone had shown up. She couldn't lie, though; she was mad jealous of Jordan. Her party was on the radio and the nightly news, and last she heard, it was being blamed for a riot, thirteen arrests, and a deployment of the National Guard. Prom was just...regular old prom, one in a long, forgetful line. Jordanfest would live on in Michigan's memory for a long, long time.

Stupid Jordan.

Don't tell her this, but Sharon missed her.

Back at Jordan's house, Lola sat on 101.5's broadcast table and leaned seductively over, her eyelashes batting. "I'll do anything to get on the radio," she purred to Dex, who laughed nervously. "Anything."

Dex offered a tight smile. "Security."

The next thing she knew, two brutes in black shirts were dragging her away. Her big shot at being a local celebrity faded in front of her, and she fought against them like a small, vicious animal. "Nooooo!"

"Hey, is that Goldberg?" someone whispered as they passed.

"I dunno, but that other dude looks like Big Show."

Lola battered them with her tiny fists, but it was no use. Finally, she gave up and allowed them to carry her off. "Whatever."

Her sister Lucy, bored with the company of mortals, called her weirdo goth friends in, and they sat in a big circle in the grass behind the pool house, where it was relatively quiet and free of people. "Are your sister and that DJ still passed out?" Haiku asked.

Lucy leaned over to see around the corner. "Yes."

"If they don't regain consciousness by seven, we should dissect them."

Lucy mulled that over. "We can the DJ, but not Lynn. I'm fond of her and if she dies, I want her to have a Christian burial."

Haiku hummed judgmentally.

As dusk settled over Jordanfest I, Jordan pushed open a door in her basement and snapped on a light. Inside was a private, in-ground hot tub. Ornate marble columns ringed it on three sides, lending it the air of a Greek bath house, and the gleaming, oak panel walls reminded Lincoln of pictures he'd seen of the Titanic. Beautiful ship for all three days it was in service.

Jordan played with a panel of knobs and levers on the wall, then waded in. Lincoln's eyes darted to her butt and a lump formed in his throat. The yellow fabric of her bikini clung lovingly to the contours of her rear and outlined it like a second skin. She turned to face him, her hands skimming the surface as it to test the temperature, and then she sat on an unseen ledge, the water coming even with her pert breasts. A hot blush touched the back of Lincoln's neck and he suddenly felt fluttery and strange. He could go without reminders that his best friend had a beautiful, perfect body.

"Come on in, Linc," she said, "the water's fine."

Had her eyes always been so green and dazzling? Were her lips always this pink and soft? They must have been...he just never noticed.

Unzipping his pants, he wiggled out of them. Beneath, he wore a pair of red swim trunks. He pulled his shirt over his head, tossed it aside, and got in. The water closed over his knees, warm and soothing, and he sat on a shelf across from Jordan with an unintentional grunt of thanksgiving.

"Told you," she said.

"When you're right, you're right," Lincoln said. He leaned back and rested his arms on the lip behind him. He never, ever felt self-conscious around Jordan, but right now he was hyper aware of every move he made, every breath he took, and, of course, of her.

She threw her head back with a moan and Lincoln caressed her soft throat with his eyes. The air crackled with awkward tension, and he flicked his gaze to the water. "You sure threw a good party."

"I guess," she said.

"You blew Sharon away."

Jordan sighed. "Yeah. You know, I...I kind of regret getting mad at her. I mean, outside of you, she's my best friend and I feel bad." She trailed off. 'And I miss hanging out with her."

"Tell her you're sorry."

"Will that even work?" she asked, genuinely uncertain. "I mean...she might be really mad at me and...saying sorry's kind of hard." That last bit came as a halting admission, and she blushed in embarrassment.

He nodded to himself. "Yeah, it is. They say I'm sorry are the two hardest words in the English language to say. You just need to ask yourself something before you do it."

She furrowed her brow and looked at him. "What?"

Her gaze, frank and direct, made him squirm. "Well...ask yourself if the person you're saying sorry to is worth it. What do they mean to you. You guys have been friends for a long time and I know she means a lot to you. And you mean a lot to her. I know she did...what she did, but is that worth throwing away your friendship?"

Jordan pursed her lips and drew a deep breath through her nostrils. "No," she finally said, "I guess it's not."

"Then suck it up and say sorry."

She snorted. "Alright, fine, I will."

For a while neither one of them spoke. Lincoln stole furtive glances at Jordan's face, his heart beating faster and faster. She stared thoughtfully down at the water and anxiously gnawed her lower lip as if mulling over a major decision. Probably still considering his words. "That's why I like you, Lincoln," she said, "you always give really good advice."

Lincoln humbly shrugged one shoulder. "Eh, sometimes. It goes with having a bunch of sisters. I have more experience in spats, tiffs, and diplomacy than a lot of other people. I could even run for Congress or something." He chuckled.

"You're a really great friend, Lincoln," she said earnestly, "and...and I do like you. A lot."

"I like you a lot too," he said.

"A lot," she repeated.

"You too."

"A whole lot."

Okay, now this was annoying. "I like you a whole lot too. I wouldn't hang with you if I didn't."

She tossed her head back and let out a frustrated sigh, and Lincoln lifted his brow. What's her issue? Wasn't the water relaxing her?

"I mean…" she stopped her self and nibbled her bottom lip. Her face turned a bright shade of pink and her limpid eyes smoldered like two fire-bound emeralds. She glanced at him, perhaps to bolster herself for what she was about to do, then slowly, falteringly, she reached back between her shoulder blades. Lincoln's brow knitted. What was she doing?

She paused a second, then forged ahead.

And undid her top.

Lincoln sputtered when he realized what she was doing. The top came loose and she slapped her hand to her chest to keep it in place, as if having second thoughts. Her cheeks blazed scarlet now and her shoulders rose and fell with the ragged rhythm of her breathing. Lincoln tried to speak, didn't know what to say, couldn't if he did. Jordan hesitated, then, with a resolute breath, she removed her hand. The top slipped down, fabric scraping creamy flesh. It brushed over her pink nipples, revealing her breasts inch by glorious inch, It dropped to the water, and her chest was bared to Lincoln's shocked eyes. Pale and pert, nipples stiff (Poppa Wheelie said that meant a girl was horny), they were breathtaking, perfect, taut and quivering with the unsteady beat of her heart.

The sight of Jordan's naked body threw Lincoln's mind into chaos. Little Lincolns - metaphors for the abstract concept of thought - ran back and forth through his head and pandemonium reigned. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, and his face burned hot. Down below, Lincoln Jr. shifted in his sleep.

Jordan gazed ashamedly down at the water, then rolled her eyes up to him like a puppy sneaking a peek of its master's reaction to its present - slippers, the paper, flawless B-cup breasts. Lincoln's brain screamed at him to not oogle her, but he couldn't help it.

Her blush deepened and the corners of her mouth curled up in wicked, Chesire grin. She didn't have to ask if he liked them, the answer was clear on his face.

She started to speak, then cut herself off. She rocked from side-to-side, arms below the water, then she leaned forward. Lincoln watched in awe as she pulled her bikini bottom from the deep, then tossed them aside. She pushed off the ledge and came to him, the water lapping her navel, sheening her bronze skin. Lincoln Jr. was fully awake now and straining against the inseam of his trunks. I hear something sexy's going on, I better have a look. Jordan shifted into his lap and threw her arms around his neck. Her breasts smooshed against his chest, and her sex grazed his thigh like an elusive and playfu seal creature, so silky and warm it stopped his heart mid-beat. Her panting breaths filled his nostrils, and the tip of her nose glanced his like a timid minnow investigating a new and exciting visitor to its tank. Lincoln's gaze locked with hers, and his mouth dropped open in a perfect O of astonishment. He was too dumbfounded to move, too gobsmacked to react, too flabbergasted to come up with more synonyms for shocked. Jordan's throat worked as she swallowed, presumably around a nervous lump, and Lincoln remembered to breathe.

"I like-like you," she said, her voice a low and reverent whisper. "As more than a friend and...I kind of have for a while."

Lincoln shook his head and grasped for words. She had? She had dropped absolutely no hints whatsoever and he had no idea. Jordan? Like him? T-That was...that was...he couldn't even come up with a word. Unexpected? Bizarre? Unforeseen? All of those, yes, but more. He had never considered the possibility of them being anything more.

Well...not in a very long time.

Jordan ran her fingers gently through his hair and stared deeply into his soul. The tender longing he saw in her clear eyes spurred him to action: His body took over from his still blithering mind and his hands laced across the small of her back. She felt good in his arms…

...right.

She tilted her head to one side, and Lincoln did the same. Their lips ghosted, testing the waters, then they kissed, timid, bashful, and awkward. Their tongues swirled, clumsy a first, then surer, bolder as the kiss deepened. Lincoln ran his fingertips up and down her curved back, relishing the dips and ridges of her body. Jordan threaded her fingers through his hair and trembled in ecstasy, grunts and hums of delight ripping from her throat. She finally had what she wanted, and only then, in the hazy, heady euthoria of accomplishment did she realize how freaking badly she wanted it.

Lincoln took her face in his hands, thumbs skimming her cheekbones, and kissed her with savage abandon. He never knew that he wanted Jordan, but right now, in hindsight, it made perfect sense. Why didn't he think of this sooner?

Putting all thoughts aside, they lost themselves to one another, kisses, touches, and sighs stoking the fires inside of them until they raged out of control. Lincoln was barely aware of his shorts coming off - did she do it or did he? - and Jordan didn't know he was penetrating her until the most beautiful sting ripped her mind, and her body, asunder. They cried out into each other's mouths, and Lincoln's nails dug into her butt, holding on for dear life as their hips began to move in unison. Her walls, wet with the heat of her desire, formed tightly around his shaft, and her working muscles drew him deep into her boiling center.

Jordan broke from his lips and pressed her forehead to his. She could feel every throbbing inch of him spreading her passage, spearing her core. Her pelvis ached as though it were going to break in two and tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't stop. Slowly, deliberately, giving herself time to adjust, she brought herself up, then down, up, then down. The pain faded, and pure nirvana took its place, each quick, rough pump of his body into hers sending her heart into the stratosphere. She wrapped her arms around him in a needy embrace and held tight, their hips moving, hearts slamming, faster, faster. "Lincoln," she gasped. She kissed the side of his neck, his cheek, nibbled his ear, gone in her lust. Lincoln's hot exhalations puffed against the slope of her throat, harder, quicker, his end approaching.

"Cum with me," she begged.

Her orgasm hit, and her body clamped painfully down on his. He grew bigger, hotter, then molten lava shot deep into her womb, so good it hurt and so painful it was bliss. She let out a strangled cry and Lincoln bucked wildly, a long, broken series of uhs pushing from his heaving chest. His load filled her then spilled over, and she took every last drop, the sensation both strange and exhilarating.

Forehead to forehead, they shared the same humid air, their faces red, their eyes misty. Lincoln's lips glistened and Jordan leaned into kiss them again, but stopped when a voice rent the silence.

"Oh, my God."

She and Lincoln both turned. Lynn stood by the door leading into the basement, her features twisted in horror. Jordan's heart sank and Lincoln fumbled for words.

Like her brother, Lynn opened and closed her mouth, trying but failing to articulate herself, then she threw up her hand and spun on her heels. "Nevermind. I don't wanna use the hot tub anymore."

Shaking her head in denial of what she'd just seen, Lynn left the room. "Nevermind, Dino, my loser brother just...hot tub's outta the question."

Dino poked his head in and sniffed the air. "Yo, why it smell booty in here?"

Without waiting for an answer, he and Lynn left, leaving Jordan and Lincoln alone. They looked at each other, then broke into dumb, hysterical giggles, only stopping when they kissed again, slower this time, and better too.

"I can't believe that little punk lost his V-card before me," Lynn said numbly. She took a hit of the joint, held the smoke, then let it out with a cough. She passed it back to Dino, who took his own rip.

They were sitting on a long Igloo cooler flanking the DJ table. It was dusk and most of the partygoers had abandoned the pool and milled around waiting for the fireworks display. A beach ball sailed across the surface like a schooner en route to mystic ports, and Lucy and her freaky friends lay perfectly still on their backs, pretending to be dead bodies from a shipwreck.

"Nigga goofy as fuck," Dino coughed and pounded his chest. "Surprised he lost it at all."

That remark offended Lynn, but she chose to ignore it. After hers and Dino's big fight earlier, they were cool and she didn't feel like making things uncool again. He hit hard for a faggot in a suit, and she surprised herself by kicking him in the face when he was down, almost killing him. If they went again, something bad might happen.

"He's a good dude and all and, I mean, not butt ugly, but still, that shit stings. I can be kind of competitive."

Dino hummed. "Umhm. I saw that." He handed her the joint and got to his feet. The crowd was starting to get restless.

He went behind the DJ table, put a record on the turntable, and upbeat hip hop started to play.

Okay smarty go to a party

Girls are scantily clad and showin; body

A chick walks by you wish you could sex her

But you're standing on the wall like you was Poindexter

Dino nodded his head, and the crowd began to move too, slowly at first - a nod here, a sway there - then faster as the music took hold. Lynn finished the joint, stubbed it out, and sat it next to her. When she first got here, she hated the old school shit Dino was playing, but now...it wasn't so bad.

Music comes on people start to dance

But then you ate so much you nearly split your pants

A girl starts walking guys start gawking

Sits down next to you and starts talking

Says she wants to dance cause she likes to groove

So come on fatso and just bust a move

Everyone was dancing, a writhing mass of shaking, twerking, grooving, and getting down. Lynn jumped to her feet, spun, and danced right into the crowd. Fuck Lincoln and fuck his V-card. She was high and felt pumped, it was time to boogie, bitch.

You're on a mission and your wishin'

Someone could cure your lonely condition

Lookin' for love in all the wrong places

No fine girls just ugly faces

From frustration first inclination

Is to become a monk and leave the situation

But every dark tunnel has a light of hope

So don't hang yourself, with a celibate rope

"I told y'all white asses!" Dino shouted over the music. "Ain't no one immune to my boy Young MC!"

She's dressed in yellow, she says "Hello,

come sit next to me you fine fellow."

You run over there without a second to lose

And what comes next hey bust a move

Inside, Lincoln pulled the covers over his head like a shroud and slid himself gently into Jordan. He weaved his fingers through her hair, fused his lips to hers, and began to make love to her. Under the blankets, where it was hot and dark and nothing existed but them, they did not see or hear the fireworks, but they didn't need to.

They were making fireworks of their own...and would for a long, long time to come.

Monday morning, Jordan drove by Sharon's house on the way to school, getting there just as Sharon started down the sidewalk. They eyes met, and Jordan pulled to a stop at the curb. For a moment, Sharon didn't move, then she came over and slipped into the passenger seat as she had a thousand times before. Jordan put the car in drive and pulled away.

Neither spoke, the atmosphere heavy between them. "I'm sorry," Jordan finally said, "I was a petty, butthurt asshole and...I was wrong."

It was hard to apologize, and to let go of what she saw as legitimate grievances, but as Lincoln said, her friendship with Sharon was worth it.

Sharon digested her words for a long time, then sighed. "And I'm sorry for taking all of our friends to Dairyland and ruining your birthday party. That was really shitty of me and I shouldn't have done it."

Jordan glanced at her. "Friends?"

Sharon grinned. "Friends."

"Good," Jordan said, "'wanna hear about my new boyfriend?"

Sharon gaped. "Boyfriend, huh?" She lidded her eyes. "What's his name?"

Jordan's smile sharpened. "Well, I call him Sex God."

"Give me all the details."

And on the way to school, Jordan did.

Hey, there's nothing wrong with a little bragging, right?

Especially when you have something worth bragging about.

;)


End file.
